


The Exit Signs I Missed

by mugsandpugs



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam doesn't understand this whole friend thing, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Child Abuse, Christmas, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gansey just wants everyone to get along, Kavinsky is his own warning, M/M, New Years, Partying, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Underage Drug Use, dream drugs, mild kavinsky/adam (dubious consent), past Adam/female OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU- Ronan is the first to realize that he and Adam are soulbonded through the words on their bodies, but chooses to keep it to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late

It was Gansey who noticed it first, but that was hardly surprising. He always knew what was happening with Ronan before everybody else, including Ronan himself.

"What's that?" he asked, tapping Ronan's wrist with his chopsticks after he'd swallowed a mouthful of lo mein. "Bruise?" 

Ronan raised an eyebrow, but glanced obligingly down at his wrist. He had to move his leather bands aside to see the blue-purple stain his friend had glimpsed through the straps, a bit embarrassed to notice that he'd developed faint tan lines around his ever-present bracelets. 

It wasn't a bruise. 

"Well are you gonna show us or just keep staring at it?" Helen asked impatiently when the teenaged boy went still all over, gaping at his inner wrist with wide eyes. She reached across the table and gripped his hand, efficiently flipping it over so everyone could see. 

"Helen, don't be rude-" Mrs. Gansey chastised before she too fell silent, eyebrows pinched together in a concerned line that her son had somehow inherited, along with her nose and expressive mouth. 

"Ronan," Mr. Gansey said slowly, after a minute of awkward silence had passed. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, that right there is a soulmark." 

On the boy's ivory skin in thick curled script, were two bold words: **Fuck Off.** They were elegantly rendered, deeper than any tattoo. Ronan wondered if the words were printed on his bones, if his veins had rerouted their path to make way for them. 

Helen, a senior in high school, made them all jump when she tilted her head back and started to laugh. Ronan snatched his hand away from her and hid it in his lap, head lowered and ears flaming. 

"I'm sorry," she choked, gasping for breath and wiping at her streaming eyes. "I'm just- that's so- that's so _Ronan._ Of course he'd annoy his soulmate right off the bat. I'm." Her face was flushed pink with amusement. "I'm sorry, Ronan. Just. That's amazing." 

Mrs. Gansey's lips twitched, as if she too wanted to laugh. Gansey, ever the dutiful friend, slapped a hand on Ronan's back, right between his shoulderblades. "Lynch, she's right. That _is_ amazing," he said in his politician's voice, shooting his older sister a Look. "In the best of ways. You have a soulmate! Any idea who they might be?" 

Ronan shook his head. Suddenly he wasn't hungry for Chinese food anymore. 

"Oh, leave him alone now," Mr. Gansey said diplomatically. "You're embarrassing him. It's not so very strange; why nowadays one in every couple hundred people has a soulmate. I bet there's even a few at Aglionby." 

They talked about it for a few minutes while Ronan, young and awkward, remained stubbornly silent. At the end of the meal, just as fireflies were beginning to dance about the Gansey's lush garden, he stood to help clean up. 

Helen threw an arm around his neck and scrubbed vigorously at his mass of dark curly hair. "I'm just giving you a hard time," she said. "I'm happy for you. Go get 'em, tiger." 

It broke the tension, and he was forced to laugh. He was young and carefree. He didn't have to worry about things like that for a million and a half years. Struggling free from Helen's grasp he dove to poke her ribs, sparring lightly. 

That night, long after Gansey had fallen asleep, Ronan remained awake, tilting his hand back and forth in the light from the window to study the words. He wondered if, somewhere in the world, somebody else lay awake doing the same. Something like excitement- or was it nervousness?- fluttered in his stomach. He smiled. 

It was less than two months following the visit to Gansey's family home when it happened: Niall Lynch, dead, in a puddle of his own brains and blood and gore in the Lynch's driveway, and it drove any thought of soulmates from Ronan's brain directly. He doubted very much he'd be able to feel something close to love for another person again. 

**###**

Adam Parrish hated Aglionby boys- every single one of them. He supposed that included himself, now that he was one of them, but he didn't see any problem or falsehood with that supposition. 

It was too embarrassing to pedal his bike down the main road while they drove their gorgeous cars past him- might as well just stamp _scholarship student_ across his forehead while he was at it. 

Still, he was almost late for work, so down the road he went. It'd been hard to get this job, hard to convince the storeowners that he desperately wanted to _Uphold the Family Values of Jimmerson's Thrift,_ that he was eager and motivated and, sure, his hours were limited because of school and his other job, but- 

Nothing was easy; everything required nothing short of perfection or it would all come toppling down. 

A car pulled alongside him and idled lazily, keeping effortless pace with him on the bike lane. Adam gritted his teeth and refused to look over, keeping his gaze steadily forward on the Henrietta trees. His chapped hands stung dully on the handlebars and the sun beat hot on his sore back. 

"Hey Parrish," a voice called, and Adam felt a chill in his belly. He _knew_ that voice. But it was the next words that made him freeze in place, throwing a leg down to keep his balance. "Need a ride?" 

It was a coincidence, he told himself, suddenly very aware of how thin his shirt was, about the words written just under her collarbone. The mark seemed to pulse and he swallowed hard, shaking his head to clear it. He forced himself to keep moving. 

Ronan wasn't deterred by being ignored, not even when he had to nudge the gas a little to keep up. "Parrish!" 

"Fuck off." Adam stared straight ahead. Dangerous words to throw at a Lynch, but he didn't care. 

There was a quiet pause, and Adam expected that would be the end of that, until Ronan spoke again. His voice sounded a touch strained. 

"Come on. You're running late, right?" 

He had a point there, loathe as Adam was to admit it. Finally, he turned a burning scowl on the BMW and the boy behind its wheel, buzzed hair as sharp as his angry face. 

Ronan lowered his sunglasses and surveyed Adam for just a moment over them, blue eyes piercing. Adam's lip twitched in disgust, but obligingly he slid off of his bike. Ronan started to open the door but Adam held up a hand. "I got it." 

It didn't take long to secure the bike to the BMW before he was flinging himself into the passenger seat, staring resolutely out the window and not at Ronan's jaw and shoulders and incorrectly knotted school tie. A glance at the digital clock revealed that it was later than he'd thought. "Damn." 

As if reading his mind, Ronan stepped hard on the gas, throwing Adam back in his seat. He tried to stifle a surprised laugh before getting his bearings and reaching for his backpack, pulling out his neatly folded Jimmersons' uniform. He didn't bother to tell Ronan to slow down; if he got a speeding ticket that was his problem. 

Having no compunction against changing in front of other people, he kicked off his khaki school pants and wriggled into the black trousers before starting to unbutton his shirt. 

He felt Ronan's eyes on him for just a moment, before they were gone again. Before he'd met the Lynch brothers, he hadn't known blue could _burn._

Knowing he'd been caught, Ronan cleared his throat. "Got some ink, Parrish?" 

He was referring to the Mark; it'd undoubtedly be easier to let Ronan Lynch believe he simply had a tattoo then go into that embarrassing explanation. "I guess, whatever." 

Buttoning the polo under his throat and adjusting the flaps of the collar, he glanced in the rearview and combed his sandy hair with his fingers before bending to slide his shoes on, finally pinning his nametag into place. After that, there was nothing to do but fold his school uniform into his backpack, nestled neatly on top of the homework he'd be up late trying to finish. 

Ronan was looking at him again, and this time Adam turned his head to meet his eyes, challengingly. "Do I have something on my face or something?" 

Ronan scoffed, a small sneer in place as he turned back to the road, making a left turn so sharp that Adam's ribs connected rather painfully with the door handle. Ronan's neck looked almost pink just then and, as Adam continued to watch, he lifted his left hand up from the steering wheel to tug a leather wristband between his teeth. 

The BMW skidded loudly in front of the thrift store and Adam tried not to cringe. He hoped Mr. Jennings wouldn't notice and began planning his explanation that Ronan was no friend of his; he didn't even know him, really. 

Without saying a word to Ronan he grabbed his bag and dragged his bike from the back of the BMW, wheeling it over to the bike rack and chaining it in place. Finally his conscious got the better of him and he turned to say thank you, but Ronan was already backing recklessly out of the parking lot. 

Letting himself into the blissfully air conditioned store, Adam clocked in at the register with seconds to spare for his shift to begin; only then did it occur to him that Ronan had somehow known what time he'd had to be there all along.


	2. The Angry One

Adam was too entrenched in school and work to spend much time making friends- not that he was especially interested in doing so. Friends didn't stick around long once they met his family.

Maybe that was why it was such a very long time before he overheard the rumors. 

"- smashed his head in like a pumpkin." 

Assuming the older boys chattering behind him as he bent to drink from the water fountain were going on about some movie or video game, he didn't pay much mind until his ears caught a name: _Lynch._

"Declan's dad?" 

"Yeah, man. A year ago today. Apparently the middle one, what's his name? The angry one?" 

"Ronan." 

"Yeah, Ronan. He found him in the driveway, brains everywhere." 

"Well shit, man. I'd be angry, too." 

The group laughed. Adam realized he'd been bent in front of the drinking fountain for too long, letting the water touch his lips but not actually drinking as he eavesdropped. He straightened, wiping the lower half of his face, but didn't turn around. 

"That's not all. Apparently Old Man Lynch was a real crook, that's where he got the money." 

There was more laughter, before a new voice joined the conversation. 

"What's going on?" The voice didn't exactly sound _angry;_ it sounded Right. And maybe that's why it stirred pangs of guilt within the group. 

"Oh, hey Gansey-boy!" one boy said, falsely jovial. 

"Nothing much," another insisted. 

"We were just going home." 

Adam knew from experience that moving slowly was a good way to avoid detection, so he gripped his bag tightly and started to inch his way towards the bathroom. 

"Parrish?" 

_Damnit._ Turning, he met the hazel-eyed gaze of one Richard Campbell Gansey III, the classmate with a strange aura of otherworldliness to him. An old man in a young man's body. When he smiled, Adam felt the urge to smile back. It was so stupid that Adam clenched his jaw to avoid doing just that. "Gansey." 

"I was just looking for you," he said, and his smile turned from commanding to sheepish in the blink of an eye. "I hear you're good with cars?" 

"Some cars," Adam shrugged. The one skill he learned from his father: mechanics. "Older American models, mostly." The electrical imports from other countries were beyond him, and many Aglionby boys drove those. 

"Oh good," Gansey visibly sank back in relief, a hand coming to press over his chest. "Could you do me an enormous favor? My Camaro is stalling and, well," he cringed. "I could pay you?" 

Adam stiffened at the last comment. _Paid_ by an Aglionby boy? No, paid by _the_ Aglionby boy? It made him twitch. "So because I'm the charity case, I'm just crawling around your ankles begging for handouts, is that right?" he asked, lip curling. 

Gansey's eyes widened in naked shock. "No-" he said, looking around, clearly confused. "I just- don't know how to do it, and you do, and I know your time is valuable, and-" 

His stuttering softened Adam a fraction. Just another rich boy unaware of how offensive he was shoving daddy's credit card at everything that breathed. "Whatever," he sighed. "I'll look at it. Just don't ever try to give me money again." 

And just like that Gansey's politician smile was back in place, nearly blinding Adam. He raised a hand to clap Adam's shoulder but seemed to think twice about it and instead just walked by his side. Very few had the nerve to actually touch Adam; there was something inherently Other about him. 

Adam could have laughed at the neon orange monstrosity he was presented with, but instead he just took the keys offered to him, popping the hood and then sliding behind the wheel to try the ignition. "Battery's dead," he diagnosed after a half second of listening to the engine try and turn over. "You probably forgot to turn your headlights off this morning. Find someone to give you a jump start." 

Gansey's look of hopelessness had Adam struggling not to roll his eyes. All the money in the world and nobody'd bothered to teach this boy to jump start a damn car. "Where's Lynch?" he asked. "You two hang out, right? Go find him and make him bring his BMW over here." 

Gansey hustled off and Adam started rooting around inside the trunk. Raising an eyebrow at the random epi pen he found, he kept digging in the miscellaneous junk until he found, miracle of miracles, jumper cables. Lucky, that. 

It took too long for Lynch and Gansey to show back up. Adam considered leaving; hopefully between the two of them, one of them was capable of this smallest of tasks- but something kept him grounded. He didn't have work that night; Wednesdays were a slow night for thrifting. He could go home while his father was out hunting in West Virginia; actually get some _sleep..._

Something kept him rooted to the spot. _Smashed his head open like a pumpkin. Ronan found him._

_It's none of your business, Adam,_ he reminded himself. _Keep your nose out of things that aren't yours._ Still, he wanted to _see_ Ronan again; he wasn't sure why. 

Finally, the BMW made an appearance with Ronan and Gansey inside, looking for all the world like they belonged together. How that was was difficult to say: Ronan was sharp and icy, foreboding. Gansey was bright-eyed and golden like a baby Apollo. Something about the way they moved, their movements reflecting each other, suggested a connection not easily understood. Adam felt a pang of something inside himself just watching as they climbed out of the car: two wolves from a pack. 

Ronan, looking sour, hopped from the BMW and popped the hood. Adam noticed that he wasn't wearing any part of the school uniform; just a tank top and jeans. Come to think of it, had he even _been_ to school that day? 

Gansey was still panting, as if he had run. It was... oddly endearing. Adam had clearly been out in the sun too long. "Here," he handed the cables to Gansey and explained how to attach them. Looking serious, Gansey carefully followed his instructions, and then turned his eager face to Adam, as if for approval. Adam was being reminded more and more of an overlarge puppy. 

"Good." he said, and tossed the keys back to Gansey. "Start the car." He found he was trying overhard not to look at Ronan, now that he'd arrived, but he could tell Ronan was looking at _him._ He tried not to stand up straighter or adjust his hair. 

Gansey and Ronan started their cars. 

Not long after they brought the Camaro back to life, Adam found himself folded in the passenger seat, with a very surely-looking Ronan just behind him. 

"Take your own car!" Gansey said. "You'll just have to come back for it later." 

"No," was Ronan's short reply. He flicked the back of Gansey's headrest. 

"You should try out for the debate team," Gansey said, rolling his eyes in Adam's direction in a conspiratorial, _oh my god,_ sort of way that made Adam feel, if for a moment, included in their little world. "With persuasive skills like that." 

"Don't need to," Ronan countered. "That's what I keep you around for." 

Unsure how to keep a conversation like this- or really, any conversation- going, Adam changed the subject. "So you'll need to keep the engine running for at least twenty minutes." 

"Should give us time to get home," Gansey said to Ronan. Then he turned to Adam. "Or we could drive you home. Do you want-" 

"No," Adam said, a bit too quickly. Before he gave himself away he supplied the easiest excuse: "I need my bike." 

"That's no problem," Gansey argued. "It can fit on Ronan's car-" 

"I said no," Adam repeated, more sternly this time. There was no way in hell either of these people would ever see his home. "Thanks anyway." 

He began to rise from the glorious and horrible Camaro, one leg already slung over the door, when he was stopped by a hand on his arm. 

"Come home with us," Ronan grunted, not quite looking at him. "Gansey will pout all week long if you don't. It'll be really annoying." 

Maybe it was because this was the first time someone from Aglionby had voluntarily touched him; maybe it was simply because he hadn't expected Ronan to be the one to ask. Maybe it was because Ronan's lower lip was more full than the top one, and looked soft when he absentmindedly worried at a corner of it with his teeth. 

"I guess," Adam sighed. If his dad had been home, there would be no way. Gansey's answering beam told him this had been the correct response. 

Wordlessly, Ronan clambered out of the Camaro and returned to his car; Adam followed and, checking to make sure Gansey was still driving slow circles around the near-empty parking lot, he lead the way to the bike rack. 

He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to know that that Ronan was following him. He felt those eyes boring into his back. Creepy fucker. Wordlessly he unchained his bike and startled a little when Ronan took the handlebars, wheeling it for him. "You don't have to-" 

The look Ronan shot him was pure disdain; he stopped wheeling the bike and lifted it easily onto his shoulder, then walked ahead of Adam, carrying it. Adam found himself looking at the muscles in his back for a second too long before he angrily shook his head at himself and hastened to catch up. He walked in nobody's shadow. 

After hitching the bike to his BMW Ronan pointedly opened the side door for Adam, who considered it for half a second before turning his back, catching up to Gansey and climbing back into the Camaro. He heard a small huff of breath behind him, and then the slam of a door before the BMW was squealing recklessly from the parking lot. 

Gansey shot Adam a quizzical look. "Making friends already, I see," he said, with a touch of something- disapproval?- in his tone. Adam scowled. 

"I think it'd be easier to make friends with a rabid badger than with him," he said, picking at the stitching on his seat. He saw Gansey's smile- something much softer than his usual confident expression- in his periphreal vision as, at a more sensible speed, the Aglionby student drove them down a side-street and onto a main road. 

"He's had a hard time lately," was all he said. Adam was reminded yet again of the conversation Gansey had stumbled upon Adam eavesdropping to. He tried his luck. 

"What those guys were saying..." he tried, but Gansey was already shaking his head. 

"Not my story to tell," was all he said. He didn't say it in an angry way; his tone was still gentle. Adam supposed he could respect that, and found himself feeling a little warmer towards Gansey for it.


	3. Tea Party

Gansey tried not to let it show that he was closely observing the other boy's response once they arrived at Monmouth. Parrish was harder to read than most; his face didn't give much away. Well, aside from when he'd been visibly annoyed at Ronan, that was.

There was just the faintest of wrinkles between his sand-colored eyebrows as he observed the factory-turned-home, the littlest set at one corner of his mouth. Was he amused? Confused? Troubled? 

"Home sweet home," Gansey said. Then, "Can I park the Pig or will it die on me again?" He realized too late that he hadn't explained his car's nickname, but Adam seemed to put it together through context. 

"You can park it," he said. "We'll check it again before I leave, just in case." 

The BMW was already parked under a tree that had taken the opportunity to shed many dry, yellow leaves over the top of it, but Ronan must have taken Adam's bike inside, as it was no longer strapped to the back. 

Gansey felt the faintest flutter of nerves as he used his key to let them into Monmouth. He couldn't explain why, but he wanted Adam to like this place- and, by extension, him. There was something about Adam that Gansey wanted to impress: maybe because, coming from him, it wouldn't be superficial. Like Ronan, Adam seemed discerning and contemplative. Approval meant more coming from someone like him. 

Adam's bike was leaning against the wall and Gansey saw Adam's shoulders relax a little at the sight of it: he had been worried. It made a little thrum of anxiety buzz in Gansey's ears, a pressing desperation to convince this boy that they were cool, they wouldn't mess with him. 

"Hey, so!" he clapped his hands together and making Adam jump a little, forcing his biggest smile. "I, um, are you hungry? We have food, and-" 

"Oh are we having a tea party?" Ronan emerged from the bathroom with a bag of chips in his hand and flung himself belly-first onto Gansey's pile of mattresses. Gansey felt a surge of relief: Ronan usually had a lessening effect on his anxiety, keeping him calm through brusque abrasiveness and reliability. "Sorry, I forgot to bring my tutu." He opened the chips and began eating them noisily. 

"No crumbs on the bed," Gansey protested, and took several long strides over to his room-area, poking an inch of pale white skin from where his pants had hitched up. "And no boots, either." 

"Yes, mother," Ronan grumbled, but handed the rest of the chips to Gansey and rolled on his back, shucking his boots off and wriggling his socked toes pointedly. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Gansey saw that Adam was looking curiously over the books and maps piled on his desk, facial expression a bit soft as he followed the curled Welsh letters with his eyes. He turned a page and an artist's rendering of Glendower fluttered free. 

"That's Gansey's boyfriend," Ronan quipped. "He likes them ancient and European." 

"Owain... Glendower," Adam read the script at the bottom of the page. Gansey tried to keep his grin from his face. Though the accent was wrong, it sounded right when Adam said it. There was something so _very_ right about this, the three of them here. He could just feel it, another piece sliding into place on a puzzle. He wanted... this. Whatever this was. He wanted a lot of it, every day. Adam _was_ special. He'd known it since the first day of school. 

Gansey was very good at finding lost things. 

"Adam Parrish," he said, and full confidence was back in his voice, the tone Ronan liked to call _Gansey-on-fire._ Adam was powerless to avoid looking up at that, something hard in his expression. "What do you know about Welsh history?" 

**###**

Several hours later Ronan was walking back into Monmouth with a large pizza from Nino's balanced on one arm and a drink carrier of coffee held in the other. When he kicked the door closed behind him, Gansey noticed that Noah was there too, holding a bag of ring-shaped cookies. 

Adam, stretched on the floor with a huge map of Henrietta spread before him, pen in his hand and a splotch of ink on his cheek, didn't seem to notice immediately, still in deep thought. "It just doesn't make sense," he said, tracing the map with his finger. "You're saying they carried him _all_ the way from the sea, in a straight line-" 

He startled when Ronan balanced the pizza box on his back, then plonked the coffees down by his shoulder. "Eat," the taller boy ordered. "Your stomach growling was driving me insane." 

Adam blinked owlishly up at Ronan, and Gansey tried to hide his smile. They'd been so deep in discussion he wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't noticed Ronan leave at all. He shifted his shoulders slightly, gently sliding the box from his back onto the floor to properly sit up and look at it. 

"Oh, I can't-" he started to say, mouth tightening into a thin line. The same expression he'd worn earlier, when Gansey had offered to pay him for helping with the Camarro. Gansey could see now that this was going to be an ongoing Issue. 

"Parrish, eat the fucking pizza or I will cram it up your nose," Ronan said. There was a hint more snarl in his voice than usual- Ronan was quickly sinking into one of his Moods, Gansey could tell. He hadn't forgotten it was the anniversary of Niall's death, but he'd hoped to distract his best friend, at least a little. 

"Ronan," he said now, his voice clear. "Don't talk to Adam like that." 

But he might as well have not been there at all, because Adam turned a steely gaze on Ronan's face, jaw tightening. He looked a little like a half-feral cat, backed into a corner and ready to strike. Gansey couldn't tell where this sudden tension had risen from. His instincts told him that Ronan had, somehow, scared Adam. "You gonna make me?" he asked, all bravado. 

Ronan, clearly itching for some sort of fight, smirked, face both beautiful and cruel in the light. "What if I do?" he asked, and cracked his knuckles. "You really think you could stop me?" 

His meaning was clear: Where Ronan was big, all smooth muscle and healthy strength, Adam was lean, a little hunched. There was something hungry in everything about him: his expression, his posture, his eyes. 

"Stop it," Gansey said, when Adam slowly rose to his feet and took a step towards Ronan. Ronan did not retreat. "Stop it!" 

This wasn't right. It had been right before; what changed? 

Adam pushed Ronan, hard, in the chest, lip curling to reveal bared teeth. _"You,"_ he said, and every word was clearly accentuated. "Cannot. Make me do anything. That I don't want to do." 

Ronan growled, and seized Adam by the shirt, forcing him onto his toes. There it was- even from where he crouched, Gansey could see it: There was real fear in Adam's eyes, before he forced it down and hid it again. 

_This is a boy who has been hit before._ Gansey didn't know where the thought came from, but he knew its accuracy with the same certainty that he knew he would someday find Glendower. 

Whatever fragile feelings that had been formed between them today could not, would not survive if Ronan hit Adam tonight. Gansey lept to his feet and forced his way between the boys. 

"Ronan, stop it _now,"_ he ordered, fury in his eyes. "Do you hear me?" 

Ronan, in Gansey's face now, was still snarling, but he didn't otherwise react. Gansey had never feared Ronan, perhaps because it was so easy for him to see him for who he was, under his bluster and flare. 

"I'm out of here." 

Gansey looked over his shoulder in time to see Adam turning sharply, heading for the door, and practically body-slamming into Noah who had picked up the coffees and was standing anxiously behind them. "Aah!" 

Four coffees- hot, but no longer boiling- splashed all over Adam. He blinked in shock for just a moment before looking at Noah. "Who are _you?!"_

"I- oh, no." Noah looked mournful and his hands patted ineffectively at Adam's coffee-soaked shirt. "I didn't mean to. I just thought you might want your coffee. Are you burned?" 

Ronan took everyone's momentary distraction to storm off to his bedroom, slamming the door hard behind himself. 

"No, I'm not burned," Adam said, and his Henrietta accent was quite thick just then as he stripped out of his soaked Aglionby sweater. "And you didn't answer my question!" 

"I-I'm," Noah stuttered. He looked thoroughly unhappy, dropping the carrier and letting his arms hang uselessly by his sides. "I'm Noah. I, I live here." 

Striding to his chest of drawers, Gansey grabbed his hoodie and carried it to Adam, holding it out like a peace offering. "I can wash your sweater for you," he offered nervously. "Bring it to you tomorrow?" His eyes were drawn to something on Adam's collarbone, a tattoo of some sort. It fit neatly under the fine bone, dark letters curling on his skin. There was something familiar about the way it looked. 

"Don't bother." Adam threw on the hoodie, holding the soggy sweater over his arm and wheeling his bike to the door. It was dark outside, the air chilly, and Adam gave a small shiver. 

Picking up the pizza box, Gansey chased after him. "Parrish, please!" 

He was horrified to hear sudden desperation in his own voice. Though he barely knew him, he couldn't bear the thought that Adam might not come back. "Can't I at least give you a ride home?" 

Adam wheeled on him, pushing Gansey's shoulders hard as he'd pushed Ronan's chest. He really was afraid, and he was doing a bad job of hiding it. "What, so you can see where the trailor trash lives?!" he snapped. Something cracked in his voice. "Go back to school tomorrow and tell everyone all about it?" 

"What?!" Gansey's eyes flew open wide. There was nothing dignified, controlled about him just then. The anxiety was at a pique, flooding him, making it hard to think. "No! Who would I tell, Adam?! Ronan and Noah are my only real friends. And..." He bit down hard on the next words. They were just too pathetic. _And you, I'd hoped._ "I just. I can't stand it, Adam. Please let me care about you." 

Adam clearly hadn't been expecting him to say that: he froze in the doorway. "You barely know me. I don't need your pity," he said, but his voice cracked again. He was close to crying. 

Gansey hung his head. He had nothing to offer to make Adam stay. "Please," he tried. It was barely a whisper. "I need this." 

Adam hesitated for a long moment. Gansey couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes until, quietly, he said, "Fine." 

Gansey could have collapsed in relief. Instead, he went back into the factory to grab Ronan's keys from the kitchen. Noah was nowhere to be seen, and loud music was blasting from Ronan's room. To his relief, Adam was still in the parking lot, hitching his bike to the BMW. 

When Adam got into the passenger seat, Gansey handed him the pizza box, and was both surprised and relieved when Adam took it. He sat slowly eating a piece as Gansey got behind the wheel and adjusted the seat to his height. 

They rode in silence for a long time, only broken by Adam's instructions. Slowly, houses and neighborhoods became less nice before there was nothing but farmland. _It must take him two hours every morning, at least, just to get to school on that bike of his._ Gansey thought in some amazement. 

Finally, they reached the trailor park. 

Adam had polished off three large pieces of pizza, savoring each string of bell pepper and onion. The Parrish doublewide was dark, and when Gansey put the BMW into _park_ they sat in silence for some long moments studying it. 

Adam turned to Gansey and pulled the hoodie off, attempting to hand it back to him. "I don't have a washing machine. And don't you say I should keep it. The dogs might tear it up." 

Giving in, Gansey accepted it back. He had hesitated to do so before, but now he put a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Tomorrow at school," he started to say, trying to put together the right words. "Can I talk to you tomorrow? Is that okay? Or will-" _Or will it go back to the way it was before? Will you pretend not to know me?_

Adam said nothing for a long moment, but he also didn't move away from Gansey's hand. He closed his eyes. "Don't know why you want to, but yeah Gansey. You can talk to me." 

Gansey let out a long breath. "Thank you," he said softly. His thumb brushed the tattoo, and Adam shivered. 

"Don't," he said, sounding more uncomfortable than annoyed. "Feels weird." 

It hit Gansey then like a truck what exactly it was on Adam's chest: a soulmark. His eyes widened in understanding. "Oh!" he exclaimed, snatching his hand back. **Need A Ride?** The words said. "That's just like-!" he clamped his mouth shut. Ronan kept his mark a secret, hidden under his bands. He probably wouldn't appreciate Gansey spreading that around. 

A light went on in the doublewide, and both boys' heads snapped to look at it. A second later, a man stepped outside. "Adam!" he shouted. 

The boy in the passenger seat suddenly went very stiff. "Oh," he said, in a much different sort of voice than Gansey had heard him use before. "I guess my father is home."


	4. Coffee-Boy

Monmouth was suspiciously quiet by the time Gansey returned home- the lack of pounding bass from Ronan's bedroom alone was not a good sign. With a sigh, Gansey bent to clean the dried remains of the coffee spill, a bit upset to see that the map and notes Adam had worked on were ruined beyond saving.

As he scrubbed the floor, a concerned wrinkle was beginning to form between his eyebrows. There hadn't been anything _wrong_ with Adam's father, not that Gansey had been present to see anyway. But the way Adam's face had looked upon making eye-contact with the man had made Gansey dislike him immediately. 

Adam had looked like a cornered animal, half wild, too afraid to even growl. And seeing this, Gansey suddenly felt like he understood a lot more about his enigmatic new classmate. Gansey had been powerless to do anything as, on shakey legs, Adam climbed out of the BMW. Through the window Gansey had heard the man's muffled voice: "Is that my bike?" 

"Yes sir, it is, I'm sorry-" 

They hadn't said anything more and, when the door to the doublewide closed once more, Gansey had no choice but to drive away. He felt hollow though, already the space Adam had occupied felt lonely. 

Gansey had always had a tendency to get attached too easily, but this was ridiculous. Shaking his head at himself, he threw away the coffee-stained notes and paper towels and walked towards Ronan's door and tapped on it lightly. "Can I come in?" 

There was only silence, which didn't count as a no. Gansey cautiously pushed the door open. 

It was a mess, as usual, the same stacks and piles of strange things that didn't seem to have any order to Gansey, but made perfect sense to Ronan. On the bed opposite the door, skin illuminated by moonlight from the curtainless window, was Ronan. 

He wore only boxers and Gansey found himself studying the tangled black lines of his tattoo, trying to make out all what it was. Tree roots, ravens; claws and beak. What a strange creature Ronan was. 

"You mad at me?" Ronan's voice was muffled by the blankets of the bed. He didn't roll over to face him, so Gansey took the initiative to step closer, picking his way over the piles of nonsense, both the whimsical and the practical. 

"Am I ever mad at you?" 

"Sometimes." 

Gansey eased himself onto the floor, folding his legs and leaning his back against Ronan's bed. He heard the springs creak softly as Ronan shifted his weight. Gansey considered his words carefully. 

"You can't treat people like that, you know." 

There was a long silence- it stretched to the point where Gansey wasn't expecting an answer, was about to say something else, when- 

"Is he okay?" 

"Adam?" Gansey thought about it. "No. Not really. Are you? You... weren't at school today, and..." 

Ronan shook his head, and Gansey turned to look at him again. He looked quite untouchable in the moment, but Gansey remembered the boy with wild brown curls always flopping in his eyes, freckles on the bridge of his nose and mouth always upturned in a mischievous laugh. His heart squeezed. 

Remembering that Ronan, it wasn't hard to reach for this one. He always seemed just seconds from disappearing entirely: Gansey dreaded the day he'd come home to find this room empty. He slid his upper torso onto the bed, pressing his forehead between Ronan's shoulderblades. 

"Buy a guy dinner first," Ronan grumbled, but the complaint held no vitriol. He softened against Gansey slightly and took a wrist, tucking his arm comfortably around his neck. 

"Ronan, I-" Gansey started to say, then stalled a bit. He felt the boy's split-second smile against his elbow. 

"I know, old man. Me too." 

Gansey didn't bother to state the obvious. It was easy to become angry with Ronan but, for him, it was impossible to stay that way. 

**###**

From the soft breath hitting his cheek, Ronan knew Gansey had fallen asleep. He was reluctant to move; Gansey's insomnia came and went, but he knew he hadn't been sleeping well this week. He lay still for as long as he was able to stand it before carefully pulling himself free, setting his best friend's arm back on the mattress as gently as possible before creeping from the room. 

He kept several stashes of booze in Monmouth; mostly beer, but some harder stuff too. Gansey had thrown a fit when he'd accidentally discovered a six-pack, so Ronan had gotten more creative. He now went searching for one. 

When, clutching his prize, he replaced the wood paneling at the back of the cupboard, making it look once more like an ordinary cabinet before shutting the door, he saw that Noah was right beside him. 

It was all Ronan could do not to drop the bottle as, heart hammering, he hissed out a series of curses. Noah was looking exceptionally creepy just then, illuminated only from moonlight of the mostly empty factory windows, and he was staring at Ronan with blank eyes. "Did you want something?!" 

Noah focused his gaze on the bottle in Ronan's hand. "Gansey said you're not supposed to do that anymore," he said, sounding petulant and, by default, significantly less eerie. 

"What Gansey doesn't know won't kill him." 

"It's your dad, isn't it? You're in a horrible mood because of him, that's why you were so mean to Adam." 

Ronan didn't dignify this with a response, just pushed irritably past his roommate and let himself into the kitchen, digging around for the bottle opener. Noah was right on his heels. "You shouldn't be mean to friends," was all he said. 

"Who says Parrish is my friend?" 

Noah had taken his hand, and was tugging absently at the leather that covered his wrist. When his cold fingers brushed Ronan's sensitive Mark, Ronan wrenched his hand back. "Stop it! You're being clingy tonight." 

Noah frowned, but released Ronan, standing still as he watched Ronan wrest with the top of the bottle. Ronan turned his back on him and took a hearty swig. 

"I guess you don't know it yet," the blonde boy said, sounding morose. When Ronan spun around to ask him what in the hell that meant, he saw that Noah was already gone. 

**###**

Adam was late to school. His dad wouldn't let him borrow the bicycle again, and so he'd eventually resorted to heading deeper into the trailer park and knocking on the door of his mothers' friend, putting on his charming good-boy smile and asking if she would give him a ride in her pickup. 

It was against the rules- he'd been told dozens of times not to bother neighbors, that a Parrish never accepted handouts- but he didn't see another choice. He despaired thinking of the week ahead of him, that he'd likely have to wake up earlier than ever, spend some of his precious paycheck on a bus pass. 

Miss Agnes, curlers in her hair and bathrobe cinched tight at her waist, yawned as she started up the rattling old truck. Adam had patched it up for her often enough that he wasn't worried that it'd run, only that she'd be out of gas again. 

"What's the matter with your arm, sugar?" she asked, leaning out the window to light a cigarette before pulling from the trailer park and onto the dirt road. He was favoring the appendage, holding it tight to his chest. 

Adam shrugged. "Banged it at work." 

She shot him a look with her discerning, coffee-colored eyes that said she wasn't buying a word of it. "When is your mama gonna lose that no-good daddy of yours?" she asked. 

Again, Adam shrugged. Staying silent was less likely to get him in trouble. She knew she couldn't get anything more from him then, so she asked him about his "fancy boy" school. That put a grin on his face. 

"Some dumbass spilled coffee on my sweater," he grunted, still annoyed. "They're gonna charge me full price for a new one." 

She swore delightfully, and his grin spread a fraction. She stopped at the gas station just next to Aglionby, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Get out." 

"Pardon?" 

"You don't want an old lady dropping you off there. You'll get hell for it from coffee-boy." 

She had a point. After sliding from the car he held out a few dollars to her, for gas, but she waved them away. "Come over sometime and plaster a crack on my ceiling," she said instead. "We'll call it even." 

Fair. 

Everyone in Latin class looked up at him when he let himself in. 

"You're late, Mr. Parrish," said Whelk, sounding disappointed. 

"I'm sorry, sir." Adam was, too. He didn't want to give Aglionby any reason to regret accepting him. He sat down, pulled his homework from his bag. Class discussion resumed. 

Someone kicked the back of Adam's seat; he ignored it. A second later there was another kick, then a third. 

"Do you mind?" Adam looked over his shoulder, annoyed, and then froze when he met Ronan's gaze. 

"The hell happened to your arm?" Ronan asked. Adam was writing his notes awkwardly, left-handed, while his right remained motionless on the desk; without his Aglionby sweater, deep purple bruises could easily be seen through the thin white fabric of his shirt. 

"The hell happened to your manners?" Adam countered, before turning to face front again. He was granted a moments peace until something was tossed onto his desk from behind- a folded bundle of fabric. 

"That was my brothers," said Ronan. "From his second year. It doesn't fit either of us anymore." 

The Aglionby sweater, while in pristine condition, was clearly not new. For one thing, it smelled faintly of laundry soap. The measurements weren't Adam's exactly, but they weren't too far off either. Adam considered fighting for a moment, but somehow this didn't feel like a handout, so much as it felt like an apology. 

"Thanks," he said, tentatively. He got only a grunt in response.


	5. My Favorite Dick

Kavinsky watched as trailor trash slowly became absorbed into Lynch and Gansey's little daisy-chain friendship-is-magic prayer circle with mixed amusement and derision. Of course Dick 3 wanted to adopt him; Disney princes always had cute talking sidekicks.

But this day, something about the whole scene- the three of them sprawled outside in the grass for their lunch break, Gansey and Parrish with their heads together over some book, Lynch watching them with an unusual softness in his perpetually bitchy face- well, it was annoying him. 

"Where are you going?" Proko asked as Kavinsky stood on the plastic seat of their picnic table. He ignored the question and stepped onto the table, narrowly avoiding Scov's lunch, and hopped off, approaching the trio's tree. 

"If it isn't my favorite Dick," he grinned, kneeing Gansey hard in the spine in greeting. The motion jostled him forward violently so that his forehead collided with Parrish's and he let out a pained grunt. Adam winced, rubbing his forehead and looking confused. Flopping between them in the grass, Kavinsky batted his eyelashes at Lynch and grinned. "Miss me?" 

"Who are you, again?" Ronan asked, sneering. Kavinsky faked a shiver. 

"Oh, that's cold." He grinned harder, then turned his attention to Parrish. "So, you're Gansey's shiny new toy? How does Lynch feel about Dicky shopping at the secondhand store?" 

It had the desired effect. Parrish's shoulders stiffened, and there was an audible growl from Ronan. Gansey didn't react quite so noticeably, but his expression did freeze in place, eyes going icy. "Did you need something, Joseph?" he asked. 

"We on a first name basis now, Richard?" he said the boy's name in something breathy, a bit high-pitched, akin to a moan, before glancing at Ronan again. "Does he let you call him that or is it just 'sir'?" 

Ronan and Gansey were visibly bothered by his presence, but Parrish just looked mildly annoyed, as if a fly had landed on his lunch. That wouldn't do: time to change tactics. 

"So Parrish," Kavinsky said, sitting up and picking a few blades of dried grass off his pants. He glanced at the book he and Gansey had been reading: _Unexplained Phenomena in Southern USA Mid-Twentieth Century._ Fascinating. "You have any Halloween plans?" 

This caught Lynch's attention. His eyes were suddenly burning holes in the back of Kavinsky's neck. Kavinsky worked to keep a grin from his face, to continue meeting Adam's eyes. 

"I have work. Why do you ask?" 

"Wondered if you'd come to my party." Kavinsky was good at reading people; more specifically, he was excellent at pushing their buttons to get them to react in an entertaining way. For better or for worse, he thought he had a good read on this one. When he hooded his eyes a bit and bit the corner of his lip, he watched as Adam's eyes darkened slightly. "Love to see you there." 

"He's not interested," Ronan interrupted, getting between them and shooting Kavinsky a poisonous glare before turning the expression on Adam. "And you _said_ you have work." 

Oh, this _was_ fun. 

"Excuse me," Kavinsky put his hands up in mock-surrender. "I wasn't aware that you had to clear your plans with Lynch first. What's the arrangement, he pays your tuition and you're his footstool?" 

Bingo. The sharp, cold anger on Parrish's face could have cut flesh, and all his fury was directed towards Lynch and Gansey. "I get off work at ten," he said. "Seeing as Lynch has no say in what I do..." Here he shot a look at Ronan, who was still seeping in murderous wrath. Kavinsky let his smug grin spread then, and shot Ronan a glance through his eyelashes. 

"I'll have someone pick you up," he said, allowing a purr to creep into his voice. Leaning close, he whispered into Parrish's ear: "Wear something black." 

It was gratifying to see goosebumps form on his long neck before he stood, sauntering back over to Scov and Proko, the only members of his friend group who were still bothering to show up for school. 

"Dude," Proko muttered, watching as Ronan and Adam began to argue while Gansey rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

"You're kind of an ass." Scov was grinning enormously. 

"You know you like it." Kavinsky retorted. 

**###**

Adam couldn't help it; towards the end of his shift he found himself continuously glancing at the clock above the bathroom door. His manager caught on immediately. 

"Eager to go trick-or-treating?" Valarie, asked, winking at him. Adam's cheeks flushed a dull pink as she giggled. 

The bell over the door jingled as it was pushed open and Adam jumped, looking above a shelf he was stocking. He was surprised to see Ronan, an uncertain expression on his face as he glanced around. "Adam?" 

It was weird, to say the least, to hear his first name in Ronan's voice. Ronan always called him _Parrish,_ or, more often than not, just, _you._

"Lynch?" 

"Oh." Ronan attempted a smile; it was exceptionally awkward on his face as he walked towards him. With an armful of stuffed animals that still needed to be shelved, Adam met him halfway. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked. This hadn't ever happened before; even Gansey didn't visit him here. The question came out a bit too sharp; he tried to soften it with a small smile, holding up the box. "Are you interested in a stuffed animal? Two for three dollars." 

Ronan glanced at the box, his smile sharpening into a smirk. That was more like it. "I think I'll pass." 

Adam shrugged and stepped back behind the shelf, continuing to stock them neatly. Ronan followed, but said nothing; Adam could see Valarie peaking at them in the angled mirror meant to prevent theft. 

"Interested in learning what it takes to be part of the Jimmerson family?" Adam asked, and that broke the ice a bit. Ronan actually laughed- a single, _Ha!_ that was too loud in the otherwise empty store. He cleared his throat. 

"No, actually. I was just wondering what you were doing tonight? Gansey's been handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. He said you could come over and watch 'scary' movies or whatever." He said all this like he had no particular vested interest in the subject, but kept glancing at Adam's face from the corners of his eyes, looking for a response. 

Oh, now it was all coming together. Adam hid his smile behind the box he was holding; his voice came out perfectly disinterested. 

"Thanks, but I'm doing something else tonight." 

In the mirror, he watched the corner of Ronan's mouth twitch. Enigmatic as he thought he was, Ronan was actually easier to read than a large-print book. 

"You aren't actually thinking about going to Kavinsky's party, are you?" Ronan asked, following Adam as he brought the empty box into a room marked, _employees only._ He dutifully remained outside until Adam emerged again with another box, this one of clothing. He shadowed Adam to the clothing racks as he began to hang up dresses by size. "Trust me, you don't want to go." 

"Don't I?" Adam asked, giving off every impression that Ronan was earning only the barest fraction of his attention. There was something immensely gratifying about watching him struggle. "Why not?" 

"Because!" Ronan was losing his cool. His arms shot out, hands flat as if to encompass all the many reasons. "I- you're not interested in. You know. His kind of stuff." 

"Stuff?" 

Ronan shot a glance at Valerie, who was emptying the cash register and counting out singles to be placed in the official bank bag, before leaning in closer and whispering savagely, "Drugs, Adam." 

He had a point there. Adam wasn't interested in the slightest. He had plenty of opportunity to get into that at home with much less consequence; there wasn't really much allure here. Still. 

"Big words from someone who shows up to class hungover more often than not." When he did bother to show up, that was. 

Frustration made Ronan's face flush, his nostrils flare as he attempted to remain even-toned. Adam was beginning to take pity on the guy- hanging out with him and Gansey and Noah and watching some nineties pg movie about witches or vampires or whatever actually did sound more fun than a large group party with people he barely knew. He opened his mouth to say as much when- 

"You're nothing like them." 

"Excuse me?" Adam cocked his head, a dress still in his hands about to be fitted on a hanger marked with, _size eight._ "What am I not like?" 

"You don't. You know. You. Care. Things matter to you. You wouldn't want to just. Just." 

His ears were turning pink to match his neck. Adam slowly hung the dress up. 

"Are you talking about sex, Ronan? Cuz I hate to break it to you, but I've already-" 

He stopped when the pink on Ronan's ears spread with alarming rapidness over the entire rest of his face, then darkened. He was red as a beet, a color unbecoming on him, and he _stuttered_ hopelessly. 

Adam supposed he should be shocked about such a response from _Ronan,_ but found he wasn't really. Weeks of friendship had shown that the bravado was more mask to keep people at bay than anything else. The grouchiness, however, was real. 

"Look," he said, hanging the final dress. "I get that you religious types are a couple centuries behind everyone else, but you should probably just stop before you say something to really embarrass yourself and make me mad. Sorry I'm a filthy sinner or whatever; we can't all live up to your standards." 

Ronan closed his gaping mouth and swallowed. "That's not what I-" he began to say. Their attention was grabbed by a car pulling up outside; a white Mitsubishi with a huge, flashy spoiler. It was ten on the dot; who would have expected Kavinsky to be punctual? 

"Hey," Adam told Ronan, walking towards the cash register to clock out. "Don't worry so much. I can take care of myself; been doing it my whole life." 

Ronan didn't bother denying that he had been worried; he stayed silent as he and Adam left the store. An opaque window rolled down to reveal Kavinsky, Scov, Swan, Proko, and a leggy dark-haired girl Adam had never seen before. 

"Well get the fuck in, working man!" Kavinsky shouted and, grinning, Adam headed towards the Mitsubishi. 

He tried not to acknowledge the pang he felt in his chest as they peeled from the parking lot, leaving Ronan alone, illuminated by the lights from the shop and looking more than a hint lost.


	6. Little Blue Pill

This really, really was not Adam's crowd.

Surveying the crowded and glowing McMansion full of a ridiculous amount of people he didn't know, Adam felt a swell of anxiety that he quickly suppressed. He'd committed to coming here and he was nothing if not adaptable. 

Swan, loose-boned and giggly, crashed into Adam and then just clung to him, skinny arms looped around his neck. His hair had been bleached white-blonde and what looked like blue scales, painted delicately on his face in blue eyeliner, shone oddly in the pulsing lights. Multiple strings of seashells were wrapped around his throat, and they rattled when he beamed up at Adam. "Hey, Parrish." 

More relieved than he'd care to admit at the distraction, something to busy himself with, he wrapped an arm around the boy's waist to keep him upright. "Swan." 

He realized he didn't know Swan's first name- he was one of the seniors allowed to continue attending Aglionby through prolific cheating and healthy financial contributions from his parents. That aside, he seemed a gentle soul. 

"I can't feel my legs," Swan muttered, and looked at the ground as if searching for them. After a second he seemed to forget this concern and turned his attention back on Adam. "You're so pretty," he beamed, and ran a knuckle over Adam's cheek. He said it happily, as if this were a pleasant surprise. 

"Thanks." Adam smiled, bemused. It felt like something someone should say thank you for. "Can you stand?" 

The boy's skin was feverishly warm, and Adam was already running through a list of possible substances with that effect. This was why parties didn't work for him. He never could turn his brain off like everybody else seemed to, and the company of so many people drained his energy reserves fast. 

"Parrish!" That slight hint of a Jersey accent had him glancing over his shoulder. "You gonna babysit the merman all night?" 

"That's mermaid to you," Swan grumbled, but didn't seem especially displeased when he was pulled off of Adam; quite the contrary, between heartbeats he had caught Kavinsky's lower lip between his teeth and was licking over it. Kavinsky laughed as he pushed him away, his lips now blue to match his friend's. 

"Go harass someone else," he said fondly, pushing Swan towards the large and shapeless mass that made up the majority of the house; many limbed and single minded. "I wanna talk to the new kid." 

Adam tried to resist the urge to glance around for an exit. It was stupid; all of this was stupid. Instead, he trained his gaze on Kavinsky, who was taking his time to approach him. 

"Adam Parrish," he said, looking him up and down. And maybe it was the flashing lights; maybe it was the hypo-realistic fake corpses strung up on the ceiling with chains and ropes, or the music- wordless screams- straining his eardrums but there was something quite chilling about his stare. He looked more at home here than he ever could in the halls of Aglionby. 

"Follow me." He stepped past Adam, disappearing to a cobweb-coated staircase without looking over his shoulder, completely certain that he would be obeyed. Adam told himself it was just to get away from the group when he found himself doing just that. 

Up two flights of stairs and through a long, looping hallway he walked, looking around in some wonder. If this was Kavinsky's _home,_ then... surely he had parents. 

Kavinsky was waiting for him in what must be his bedroom; there was a bed, an enormous television screen and a playstation. Piles of clothes had been kicked in the corner. It was surprisingly normal after the blood-soaked chaos of the first floor, and yet significantly more intimate. Adam stalled in the doorway. "Why did you bring me here?" 

Kavinsky snorted hard through his nose, a smirk twisting the lines of his mouth. "Relax. Just wanted to talk to you, too loud down there." 

Adam refused to blush, to let himself feel stupid. Kavinsky knew what he was doing- whatever this conversation was heading towards, it was something where Kavinsky wanted the element of power. He braced himself and refused to lower eye-contact. The smirk only spread wider. 

"That's the face of someone preparing for a fight," he said, and knelt by his bed, digging around underneath it. "You always so defensive?" 

The answer was yes, and Adam had taken enough courses on psychology to guess why. 

Finding what he was looking for, Kavinsky stood, a pouch in his hands. Tapping the side of it, a pale blue pill rolled into his palm. He offered it to Adam, who took a step back. 

"I don't-" he started to say. 

"Lucky for you, I do," Kavinsky retorted, and tossed it into his own mouth. "Why are you here, Parrish?" 

"You invited me." 

"But why did you say yes?" he flopped back onto the bed, body language carefully arranged to spell harmless laziness. Adam wasn't fooled: those eyes remained sharp as ever. "You don't need to answer that. Lynch is pissing you off, isn't he? Acting like he owns you." He held a palm up when Adam started to protest. "Wouldn't be the first time I was used to make someone jealous." 

Adam felt a pang of guilt at that, and glanced away for just a second. When he looked back at Kavinsky, he saw that the boy's dark eyes had softened somewhat. He must have been a lovely child, positively doe-eyed. 

Adam had been cute as a kid, too; he knew firsthand that it was when the puppyfat melted that the adults lost interest. 

_This whole damn world is full of people like us,_ he thought bitterly. _Unloved and forgotten._ It wasn't fucking fair. Everyone preferred puppies to dogs. 

"Parrish," Kavinsky said, and patted the bed. "Would you fucking sit down? You're making me twitchy standing in the door like a vampire. Do you need to be invited?" 

Cautiously, Adam approached the edge of the bed, then, giving a large internal shrug, sat down next to the other Aglionby student. Kavinsky studied him with eyes significantly softer than before; whatever he'd taken seemed to be having an effect. 

"You ever get lonely, Adam?" he asked. "Feel like you're the only sane one in a sea of crazy people?" 

It was exactly the sort of thing a high person would ask, and Adam found himself relaxed enough not to fight when a hand tugged him down, when a forehead was pressed to his, a hand creeping up his side. This, he'd been half-expecting. This, he could handle. 

He closed his eyes when lips touched his; soft and pliant, and moved his own mouth in response, angling his head. It'd been a long time. This was nothing. Rich or broke, this mutual understanding required no words. 

When he rolled over Kavinsky, braced his weight on his elbows to kiss him more thoroughly, he felt the other boy's hands roaming boldly underneath his shirt. Dexterous fingers ran up his spine, fluttered along his shoulderblades. He wasn't so much stroking as he was prodding, as if in search of something. Adam raised an eyebrow but allowed it, finally just removing his shirt entirely. 

Warm breath huffed against his neck when the other student laughed. "I figured," he said, eyes on the mark, and he ran a thumb over it before dragging Adam down. 

Kavinsky rasped his tongue over the soulmark. It felt simultaneously incredible and _wrong,_ and it left Adam gasping for breath like he'd been electrocuted. Kavinsky grinned up at him for that, and leaned in to do it again. 

"Who's mark is that?" he asked, and Adam bit back a yelp when his teeth scraped over the letters. "Who do you belong to? Think they can feel this? Think they like it?" 

Adam made an annoyed, protesting noise. He didn't belong to anyone; he was his and his alone no matter what some weird stain on his skin said. He opened his mouth to say as much but then Kavinsky's arm was around his neck, pulling his face down, and then were kissing again, all teeth and growls this time and when they tumbled from the bed and onto the floor, Adam was too dazed to notice immediately that something small and powdery had been pushed into his mouth along with a tongue. 

"K-" he tried to sit up, but hands were gripping his hips and grinding him in slow circles and _fuck-_ he struggled to remember why this needed to stop. The pill was weightless and tasted like nothing at all as it continued to dissolve and slide warmly down his throat, making everything feel distanced and muffled as if he were viewing the scene from underwater. 

A hand cupped his face, a thumb sliding into his mouth to rub soft circles on his tongue, and Adam tried not to moan. 

"I'll tell you a secret, Parrish," Kavinsky smirked, and leaned in to whisper into his ear. "I know who wears the other half of your mark." 

He used his knees to push Adam off of him as he clambered to his feet, leaving the other boy behind, curled as he was on the floor. Adam tried to sit up, but he felt so _heavy-_

"See you around, trailor trash." He gave a lazy half-salute and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Adam completely immobile and trapped in the darkness.


	7. Feverdream

Gansey was resting his cheek on an old book that smelled of leather, eyes closed. He wasn't quite sleeping, but his consciousness fluttered terribly close to the brink. If he just held still enough, didn't think about it too much, maybe tonight...

A loud thud from Ronan's room had him sitting bolt upright, glasses askew. He fixed them as he stood, already walking over there. "Lynch?" he called, and tapped on the door. "You alright?" 

There was only a pained groan as an answer, and he pushed the door just a little to see Ronan on the floor, tangled in his sheets with sweat making his forehead gleam. He looked positively ill. 

"Parrish," he said upon meeting Gansey's eyes, and Gansey blinked. 

"Um, no, I'm Gansey, remember?" he asked, and walked inside, kneeling down by his friend and bringing the back of his hand to his cheek. He was burning up; feverish. 

"Something happened to Parrish," Ronan repeated. "Something happened. Call Parrish." 

"It was just a dream, Ronan," Gansey sighed, and stood, tugging his best friend up to his feet. "You have a fever." 

"He's scared," Ronan muttered as Gansey helped him out of his room and into the kitchen/bathroom. "You need to go get him." 

He pushed away the glass of water that was offered to him, his fever-shiny eyes meeting Gansey's with sudden intensity. "Don't you _hear_ me?!" 

Gansey, tired and headachey and frustrated, grabbed Ronan's wrist and forced the glass into his hand. "Would you drink that?" 

He wasn't expecting Ronan to yelp like he'd been burned; the sound made him jump, dropping the cup to the floor. Remarkably, it didn't break, but bounced on the tile and rolled towards the door, splashing water everywhere, splattering their feet and shins. Wondering if he'd accidentally grabbed too hard, Gansey snatched his hand away. "Ronan?" 

The middle Lynch brother was holding his hand to his chest like it was broken. "Please call him, Gansey." 

It was the 'please' that did it. 

### 

Ronan had vomited quite a lot after Gansey left. He just felt so wrong; swimmy and lightheaded, his wrist pulsing and throbbing, the ache somewhere between a deep bruise and a pinched nerve. 

Now he sat on the floor of their bathroom, knees to his chest as he leaned against the refrigerator, waiting. He hadn't allowed Gansey to give him any water until, after making a series of phone calls and finally getting ahold of Kavinsky's house, someone updated him on Adam. His face had grown grave, then angry; ignoring Ronan's demands to know what they had said, he'd instead grabbed his coat and keys and left. 

He jerked, alert, when the front door opened again heard heavy, labored footsteps. Scooting to the door, he glanced out into the main room; Gansey, bent nearly double, was supporting- practically carrying- Adam. 

Relief flooded Ronan then, heavy as a quilt being dropped onto his head from above. He stood, knees a little shaky, and helped Gansey lay Adam out onto his bed. 

"Kavinsky gave him something," was all Gansey said when Ronan lifted one of Parrish's eyelids with a gentle finger and frowned, puzzled, at the enormous size of the pupil. "Wouldn't tell me what it was." 

Adam mumbled softly when Ronan pushed his floppy hair back, turning his face into Ronan's hand. The ache in Ronan's wrist faded and he sighed. 

Gansey was studying Ronan closely. "Did you throw up?" he asked. Ronan shrugged. 

"Does it matter?" 

Gansey pursed his lips. "Parrish did," he said. "He was practically choking on it by the time I found him. He probably would have died if you didn't tell me to look for him." 

The digital clock radio by Gansey's bed showed that it was almost half past four in the morning. Hard to believe that in the few hours since Ronan had spoken to Adam at the store, he'd had a near death experience at the hands of Kavinsky. 

Slowly, Ronan slipped his bands off his wrist and held his Mark out to Adam, resting his palm on the boy's chest. As they watched, color bloomed in his ashy cheeks. His breathing began to even out. 

"Oh," Gansey said, and nodded his head once, very slowly. 

"Yeah," Ronan agreed. The surprise was dull; he knew when he had more energy he'd probably be freaking out over this. For now, there was only relief and exhaustion. 

So this was what it meant to be soulbonded. 

### 

Adam awoke to golden afternoon sunlight filtering his eyelids from many windows. Glancing around, he was momentarily puzzled as to where he was, until he recognized Monmouth, and the bed he was lying on as Gansey's.

Sitting upright, he was greeted both with an aching headache and the sight of Gansey himself, asleep in a wooden dining chair pulled up next to the bed. His head was drooped to his chest, hair falling into his eyes as he breathed softly. It occurred to Adam that he must have been there, watching over Adam, for hours. 

He dimly remembered Gansey finding him in Kavinsky's bedroom, rolling him onto the side and pounding him on the back until he could breathe again; everything after that was a blur. 

Sudden humiliation caused his cheeks to burn, and shame squirmed hot in his gut. It was certainly not Gansey's job to babysit him. He did nothing but upset and worry him; he didn't deserve such friendship. 

As quietly as he could he slipped out of bed and crept past Gansey, towards the door of Monmouth. As he was unlocking it, Noah's whispered voice came from somewhere behind him. 

"You are loved, Adam Parrish." 

He spun around, expecting to see the tall blonde boy just behind him, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

Shrugging it off, he shut the door behind him and began the long, _long_ walk back home.


	8. Chatroom

Adam was avoiding them, and Ronan seemed fine with letting him continue to do so. After seeing him walking around campus seeming no worse for the wear from the drugging incident, nothing else really mattered.

Gansey tried to bring it up once, when he and Ronan were sitting under their tree at lunch. "Parrish-" he started to call, viewing that sandy hair from a distance, but Ronan stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

"Don't." 

"You don't want him to sit with us?" Gansey asked, puzzled, and Ronan shook his head, expression turning a bit stormy. Gansey let it drop. 

The topic came up again when Gansey wanted to call the Parrish landline and ask about a book he'd loaned Adam; Welsh poetry, the verses that could be applied to Glendower marked with Post-it's. 

"If you do that, he might come over." Ronan didn't look at him when he made this point. 

"You can't avoid him forever, Lynch," Gansey sighed. "You're soulb-" 

"Can you just stop?!" Ronan snarled, wheeling on Gansey in full defense mode. "He's alive, isn't he? I don't _have_ to do anything." 

"You're being ridiculous." The more erratic Ronan behaved, the calmer and more rational Gansey became. It infuriated the other boy, who wanted to rattle him until they were both angry. 

"You don't know what it's like," Ronan retorted, and stormed towards his room, slamming the door behind himself. 

"I would if you'd just tell me!" Gansey sighed and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. Sometimes living with Ronan was like living with a ticking bomb. 

He was surprised, then, the next night when Ronan came to him. He saw his long legs from his peripheral vision and tilted his head up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor before his scale model of Henrietta, a tube of glue in his hands as he fixed a sloping roof. 

Ronan swayed slightly and then, carefully, lowered himself to the floor, pressing his back to the wall and closing his eyes. The smell on his breath was unmistakable. 

"You've been drinking." The surge of disappointment he felt about that was palpable. He'd suspected Ronan still drank, but concrete proof was another animal entirely. 

Ronan neither confirmed nor denied, just stared down at his knees until Gansey turned to face him completely. His hair had grown some; soon they'd need to buzz it again. It was now cold enough at night that Ronan was opting to wear pajamas instead of just boxers, and they looked soft and inviting. He rested his head against Ronan's shoulder. 

After a moment, Ronan said, "I can feel it now. Stuff in his head." 

Puzzled, Gansey opened his eyes and saw Ronan studying his wrist. "You mean Adam?" 

Ronan nodded, the movement jostling Gansey's head a bit. "I can like. Feel stuff. That's not me. Little bits and pieces of... feelings. Not thoughts but. I can't explain it. Sometimes he gets scared, or he's in pain and." Gansey saw how distressed Ronan's face had turned, alcohol overcoming his natural aggressiveness. 

Gently, he said, "That must be hard." He tried to imagine what it was like, suddenly having someone else's feelings in his head. Ronan could barely handle his _own_ feelings. 

Ronan turned his watery gaze on Gansey, looking thoroughly unhappy. "He's always scared at night, between when his shift ends and when he goes to sleep. He's _always_ afraid when he's at home." 

Gansey thought he suspected why, and it made him feel about as glum as Ronan looked. 

"Is pushing him away supposed to help, though?" he asked carefully, fiddling with a tear on the knee of his own pajamas. "I don't see how making him feel all alone will make anything better." 

Ronan made a pitiful noise, burying his face in his arms and hiding himself in his knees. Gansey, dislodged from his perch, sighed dramatically. _"Ronan."_

Noah, stepping from the kitchen/bathroom, surveyed them with some interest. "It's because _he's_ scared," he supplied helpfully. 

When Gansey shot Noah a hush-up-now glance, the smudgy boy shrugged. "It's true. Ronan is scared of Adam finding out that they're soulbonded. But I mean, he's going to find out eventually." 

Noah chose the worst moments to become brave. 

"I just," At that moment, Ronan sounded as young as he truly was. There was no mask, just an ordinary teenager. "I, I don't _love_ him. Aren't I supposed to love him? This isn't how this is supposed to work. If it were you, that'd be okay. I _know_ you." 

This brought a new perspective to light. "Huh," Gansey mused, thinking this over. It did make perfect sense. Everyone thought the concept of soulmates was this great, romantic thing, but of course it would be frightening to someone like Ronan. 

"Noah, can you bring me my iPad?" he requested, and smiled his thanks when it was handed over to him. Gradually Ronan uncurled from his ball and inched back over to Gansey, reading what he was typing over his shoulder. 

It took some searching but the chatroom Gansey found looked pretty legitimate. All of its credentials were tight. "It's a support group," he explained, and Ronan groaned again but this time rolled his eyes. "Hey, hey listen!" Gansey said, talking louder. "These are other people with soulmarks! That way you get the real story, not just the goop in movies and on TV. Ronan, are you listening?" 

But Ronan was _giggling_ now. It was likely the effects of whatever he'd been drinking, but his eyes were bright and happy and he had a bit of his sparkle back, from when they were children. The pang in Gansey's chest was sharp then. He tried not to miss that Ronan too much. He had _this_ one. He _loved_ this one. But still... 

"What's so funny?" he asked, unable to keep his smile away. Ronan's mirth was infectious. 

"You," Ronan retorted. "Somehow you using a chatroom is like seeing a little old lady kick everyone's ass at an arcade. It's just great." 

"Hey, now." Gansey put on a face of mock-offense, then reached and scrubbed Ronan's hair the wrong way. It was a little like petting a hedgehog. The giggling turned to actual laughter. 

Noah beamed. 

**###**

Adam bit into his peanut-butter sandwich, chewing slowly to make it last as he read through his chemistry notes for the fourth time. Eating lunch alone in empty classrooms had done wonders on his studying schedule, that was for sure. He tried to keep his thoughts at that, to not miss... anyone. 

"Parrish." The slinky voice made him jump practically out of his skin, eyes wide and heart pounding. Kavinsky was leaning through the doorway, and offered him a wide smile. "Haven't seen you in a while." 

Adam was no stranger to fighting, but the problem with being hit by someone you weren't allowed to fight back had lead to a curious thing in him: when he was afraid, he sometimes lost the ability to do so. It was as if his body froze while his mind was shoved forcefully into a closet, like he was trying to protect himself from witnessing what he was about to experience. 

Kavinsky was still nowhere near as frightening as his father, however, and so he rose swiftly to his feet and stared the other student forcefully in the eye. He said nothing. 

"Ooh," Kavinsky said, his crocodile smile only growing as he let himself into the classroom. "That's a scary face. What, you don't like me anymore? You liked me plenty on Halloween." 

Adam continued to remain silent. There was only one door in this classroom, and Kavinsky was blocking it. He wouldn't be able to fit through any of the windows even if they could open, which he strongly suspected they did not. If he was caught fighting on campus, he'd have to kiss his scholarship goodbye. 

That left only one option: play along. With great effort, he managed to smooth his face out to a neutral mask. "What's going on, K?" he asked. His voice came out a hint robotic, but otherwise he thought he was doing fine. 

Kavinsky shrugged. "Just checking up on the pity fund. Your gallant prince in his orange steed came rushing in to scoop you up before I even got a chance to say goodbye." 

Adam tried not to show that Kavinsky was effectively getting under his skin, pushing all the buttons. He'd never met anyone so skilled at reading people- well, aside from Gansey, but Gansey used those powers for good. "Here I am," he said flatly, holding his arms out. "You've seen me. Goodbye." 

Gathering his lunch Adam made his way to the door. His heart was in his throat as he pushed past Kavinsky, but he refused to let his anxiety show on his face. His palms felt very sweaty. 

He was almost free when someone grabbed his arm. "Where you going, Parrish?" Kavinsky asked, voice slippery and dangerous. 

Turning on him, Adam didn't allow himself time to think. He instead used his grip on his forearm to push him forcefully back into the wall, staring into his eyes. 

"You don't want to do that." he said, voice far calmer than he felt. His gaze didn't waver, his expression didn't shift, and after a second he saw a hint of uncertainty in Kavinsky's eyes. That was enough for him; with a scoffing breath he turned and let himself out of the classroom. He wasn't followed. 

Rounding a corner, he leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath; his heart was pounding. He felt a strange sense of triumph despite his rocketing pulse, and he wiped his clammy hands on his backpack. A great clattering of footsteps made him jerk upright, staring down the hallway as Ronan came sprinting at full speed towards him. 

Upon reaching Adam, he bent double, resting his hands on his knees as he panted hard for breath. He must have run the entire campus at that pace to be so incoherent. In bewilderment, Adam cocked his head and waited for him to catch his breath. 

"You... alright...?" Ronan wheezed between panting breaths. "I thought..." 

He'd run all this way just to check on Adam? Weird. 

"I'm fine," he said. sounding bewildered, and meant it. "Are _you_ alright?" 

With some effort Ronan straightened up. "I'm fine," he said curtly. "Come on. Gansey misses you." 

More than a little confused, Adam hastened to catch up.


	9. Sugar, We're Going Down

Olivia was what Adam's father referred to as, _a tall drink of water,_ though never to her face. Tall and brown with high cheeks and almond-shaped eyes, she was positively stunning. It was only through several years of friendship that Adam could speak to her without stuttering.

When Ronan dropped him off from work and Adam saw her waiting on the hammock before her father's trailer, he felt his face break into a beaming smile. "Liv!" 

He hastened out of the car to greet her and, grinning, she slid off the hammock to approach the BMW, bundled in a winter jacket and boots. Her breath came out in dragon-like puffs of silver as she wrapped her arms around Adam, squeezing hard. In her platforms, she was an inch or so taller than he. 

"You visiting your aunt for winter break?" he asked, and she nodded, the small dimple in her cheek making an appearance. 

"Nice wheels," she remarked, glancing at the BMW over Adam's shoulder. Slowly, the tinted passenger window rolled down so Ronan's face could be seen. He appraised Olivia slowly, looking her up and down. It was fairly clear his sunglasses cost more than every piece of her outfit combined, and when he lowered them to meet her eyes, this fact became apparent in the set of her mouth. "Hi," she said, her accent slow and drawling. "I'm Olivia." 

Ronan said nothing, only turned and began rolling the wheel up again. Adam stopped him with a hand on the hood. _"Lynch,"_ he said, embarrassed and attempting a Gansey-like tone. "This is my childhood friend." 

"Cute," Ronan sneered, and began backing away. Adam rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated noise as the BMW quickly disappeared. Lynch had been being almost civil lately; he'd surprised Adam by picking him up from work, had even had burgers for dinner that he'd convinced Adam into sharing with him. They'd listened to music, too, and Adam had to admit it wasn't all horrible. 

"Sorry," he told Olivia. "His assholery is still relatively unpredictable." 

She smirked, gave Adam a light punch on the shoulder. "How about your assholery?" 

Deadpan, he replied, "I am nothing if not a gentleman." 

It was the tiny glint of amusement in his eye that did it; she started laughing, and he was helpless but to follow suit. She knew him like the back of her hand. When he'd lost his virginity to her the summer prior, it had felt the natural course of things. Joking around had led to messing around, had led to sex in his bedroom. He'd been straight-faced and serious as ever, but her joking comments and teasing had thrown off his flow. When he'd complained that she should take this seriously, she'd poked him in the ribs and told him to lighten up. 

His mother thought she was good for him, thought it was good to hear him laugh. His father- 

Olivia, the brightness in her face immediately shutting down, stared at something over Adam's shoulder. He knew who it was before he spoke. 

"Adam, if you'd care to grace us with your presence." 

"Yes, sir." Adam quickly turned around to meet his father's eyes. He seemed in a better mood than usual, but that was likely the effect of Olivia; pretty girls seemed to get that response out of him, a fact that made Adam's guts twist in disgust. 

"I'd better get going too," Olivia said, and gave Adam a tentative smile. "I just wanted to let you know I was here." 

"See you soon, Liv," Adam said, trying to conjure up the same happiness he'd felt upon seeing her, but it was harder now with his dad's hand on his back. 

Being escorted back to the doublewide, Robert muttered to him, "Don't knock her up or you'll end up just like me." Then he laughed like it was the best joke in the world. 

**###**

Ronan didn't really have any express reason to dislike her, but he had never really needed a reason to dislike anyone. Still, there was something about her that bothered him more than the average person. 

"Well, you're in a mood," Noah complained, when he let himself into Monmouth and flung himself facedown on Gansey's bed. "And we were having such a nice night." 

It looked as if he were arranging popsicle sticks into roads on Gansey's Henrietta model, while Gansey himself was cleaning some grease-covered carabineers. Ronan resisted the strong urge to step on the popsicle sticks and remain where he was, seething in frustration. 

He looked as Gansey put the carabineers away and turned his attention to the EMF reader. "Are we going exploring again?" he asked, unable to keep all the pissiness out of his voice. Gansey frowned. 

"I am, tomorrow," he said. "Nobody's making you go." 

Ronan grunted. Of course he was going. Gansey was good at what he did, but Ronan still had misgivings that Gansey would be able to handle himself if he got lost, or stuck, or hurt, or... 

"So what crawled in your Cheerios and died?" Noah asked, holding up a frame of popsicle sticks and peering at Ronan through them. "Cheer up, it's almost Christmas." 

Ronan shrugged. 

"You think Adam would want to go with us?" Gansey wondered. They hadn't taken Adam on an official Glendowering Adventure, had only discussed the theory with him. 

Ronan rolled over, mashing his face in Gansey's pillows, and growled. 

"Trouble in paradise?" Noah asked. Ronan raised an arm without looking and flipped him off. 

**###**

How he had ended up in the front seat of Gansey's Camaro, Noah's knees pressing uncomfortably into his spine, while Adam and _Olivia_ \- he mentally added airquotes around her name- curled up in the backseat, Ronan didn't know. Admittedly, he'd still been mostly asleep when Gansey dragged him out of bed and deposited him in the passenger seat. 

"Drink your coffee," Gansey told him now, tapping the thermos he'd dropped into Ronan's lap. Oh, so that was why his thigh was hot to the point of becoming uncomfortable while the rest of him was chilly. Sluggishly, he took a sip and promptly burned his mouth. 

_"Shit fuck fuckering ow!"_

"Is he always this articulate?" _Olivia_ asked quietly. 

"Hey, at least he's awake now," was Parrish's reply. 

"That's a good thing?" Noah asked dubiously. 

Gansey cleared his throat. "So today we'll be going to this monument I found," he said pointedly. "The EMF readers are picking up quite a lot of activity in the area and reviews on the internet are cryptic and interesting. Olivia-" 

"Hey, I'm game," she said, shrugging. "My aunt told me to get lost today anyway, which means she's probably wrapping Christmas presents." 

Ronan rolled his eyes. _Game. Christmas presents._ Never mind that he had gifts of his own to wrap; it was more annoying when she said it. 

Of _course_ the monument Gansey wanted to see was at the top of a steep, icy hill. And of course tiny flakes of snow began to fall the second they got out of the Camaro. Gansey slid backwards after the first couple of steps; Ronan caught him from behind until he got his footing back on the slick, dead grass. 

Wind had already started picking up, and it buffeted loudly; feeling his ears grow chapped, Ronan quickly pulled his hood up. Olivia's lips were looking blue, and Adam gave a shiver. Only Noah remained untouched, seeming almost to fit in in this dreary place. 

"Maybe this isn't the best day for this-" Adam said, looking dubious, but Olivia cut him off. 

"We drove all the way out here, might as well try..." 

Nodding, Gansey removed from his pocket a handful of carabineers, expertly stringing them onto bungee cords before passing the metal clips out; obligingly, Ronan clipped his onto his belt and waited for everyone to do the same. He'd been friends with Gansey long enough to know how this went. 

"Stick together," Gansey advised. "Visibility is low." 

It was a struggle to climb the hill; the farther they walked, the harsher the wind picked up; it stung Ronan's face. As the tallest of the group, it didn't take long for him to decide to pull ahead of Gansey, using himself as a windbreaker of the formation. 

The dead trees everywhere seemed quite ominous in the low winter morning light, their naked branches skeletal and whickering. He told himself he was just imagining the feeling of dread sinking in his chest. 

Through squinted, streaming eyes, he finally caught what might be a building in the distance. "Come on," he urged, and reached behind himself to grab someone's sleeve, tugging them forward. 

Step by thigh-burning step, they finally reached a plateau of sorts as the hill began to even out, and he stopped to pant for breath before looking at the monument Gansey had brought them to. 

It was hard to tell if the building he saw was more stone or tree; it twisted from the branches of the thick oak, wrought iron bars spiky and uninviting surrounding the monstrosity. A door could be seen amidst the tangled roots, clearly leading underground. 

The five stood surveying the place silently, before Olivia spoke. 

"This isn't a monument. It's a mausoleum."


	10. Trapped and Dead Things

That hadn't been Ronan's first train of thought, but upon studying the structure, he had to admit she was probably right. It was still strange that it seemed to be crafted more from tree than brick or other man-made material, like the earth itself had formed this on its own. It looked like it had been built by a gang of forest nymphs inspired by a few too many emo bands.

"We're not going to go in there, are we, Gansey?" Adam asked, sounding apprehensive. "Your research didn't say anything about a place like this, we're not prepared..." 

But Ronan knew, upon taking one glance at the suddenly hungry expression on Gansey's face, that he at least _would_ attempt to go in. He knew Gansey's thoughts then with a clarity so sharp he may as well have said them aloud: _Glendower._

"He's not in there, man," Ronan told Gansey. "Come on, you know this doesn't feel right." 

"Yes," Gansey said simply. He didn't add a, _but..._ but they all heard it anyway. 

"You should go home," Ronan addressed Adam and Olivia, and reached deftly into Gansey's pocket for the Camaro's keys, tossing them over. "We'll find our own way back." 

Adam caught the keys on reflex, but shot Ronan such a wounded expression that he almost felt guilty. "I didn't know you were the only one who cared about Gansey," he said, with some ice in his voice. 

Ronan shot a pointed glance at Olivia, who was creeping closer to the mausoleum, examining the curved script on the door. "What language is this?" she asked, touching the wooden inlay. 

"Latin," Gansey said, voice a bit strained. "Ronan, translation?" 

Ronan grunted, but acquiesced, approaching the doors and crouching next to Olivia. The words were quite faded, and he had to squint. _"Death lies inside,"_ he read, then snorted. "No shit." 

Olivia reached for the crudely carved door handle and began to twist it; alarmed, Ronan grabbed her arm. "Don't-!" 

She shook him off like water. "It's locked anyway." 

Ronan's heart was still beating a tad too hard. "Don't fuck with magical things," he said, and stared into her eyes, waiting for her to lower her gaze. She didn't. 

A cool hand touched the back of his neck in a consoling way and he looked up to see Noah, studying the doors with an odd expression on his face. "Let me try," he said, and his voice was odd, too. 

Ronan quirked an eyebrow, but Olivia released the door handle and stepped aside. In slow, jerky movements, as if frames were missing in his animation reel, Noah bent and grasped the handle and turned. It rotated seamlessly; the door didn't so much as creak when he pushed it open; Ronan became immediately aware of the musty scent of wet leaves before feeling the cool, dry air blast his face. It was a similar sensation to being touched by Noah himself. 

Olivia looked baffled as Noah stepped into the dark abyss. "It was _locked,_ she insisted. "I swear it was." 

Ronan believed her. 

"Noah, wait," Gansey said, and adjusted his backpack on his shoulders, hurrying after him. But Noah didn't wait; as if drawn by puppet strings, he continued forward, disappearing quickly into the unknown. Adam, next in line after Noah and attached at the waist by carabiners, had no choice but to follow after him. He grabbed for Olivia's spare hand and, before Ronan could react, she'd taken his wrist as well. 

Ronan offered his free hand to Gansey, who took it; like a single many-limbed creature the four followed after Noah, his white-blonde hair shining dimly in the eerie blue light ahead of them. 

"Where's that light coming from?" he heard Olivia ask Adam; Gansey stopped to fish in his backpack before producing a miner's helmet, which he placed on his head before flicking the on switch; the light that beamed from its brim illuminated the walls of the place, covered in a thick blue moss that glowed lightly. It shrank back from Gansey's light like a sentient thing. 

"You're hurting it," Ronan said to Gansey, who, looking chagrined, switched his light back off again. He kept the helmet on, though, as they walked. 

Olivia's grip on Ronan's wrist quickly became uncomfortable and, glad for the cover of darkness, he twisted in her grasp, lacing his fingers through hers as he had with Gansey's. If she was surprised by this, she made no show of it. 

Adam stumbled abruptly and let out a soft curse. "Stairs," he warned, bending to rub his bruised shin before cautiously proceeding downwards. It was slow going; the stairs were narrow, uneven, and curving. One step was barely an inch below another, and then the one following it was a gut-lurching drop of over a foot. 

"Who _designed_ this place," Gansey muttered, sounding appalled, and Ronan ducked his head to hide his grin. From what he saw of Olivia's profile in the dim light, she was smiling too. 

"Noah," Adam called once they reached the bottom of the stairs, looking left and right. They had reached a fork in this empty place, with a chamber to the left and another to the right. "Where did you go?" 

They all stopped to listen closely. 

"Noah?" Gansey called, a little louder. 

A faint clattering was heard from the chamber to the right and, without hesitation, Adam lead them there. 

The blue moss thickened considerably inside this chamber, creeping onto the floor and the ceiling and giving them more of a read of the shape of this place. It was circular, like walking into a tunnel, and low enough that Ronan's head nearly brushed the ceiling. A feeling of claustrophobia was creeping quickly in on him. This was not improved when Olivia commented, "We must be miles underground." 

She stopped so suddenly that Ronan crashed into her. "What the hell?" he asked, but it was as if she were frozen in place. 

Following her gaze, he saw at first what he thought to be a small hole, about a foot and a half across, in the floor; focusing his eyes some, he saw it was a puddle of darkish liquid, possibly water. Angling his head, he saw the reflection. It was not the blue lights of the place, nor was it her face. Instead in this puddle he saw another girl: a teenager, petite, with cropped dark hair and a pretty face. 

And next to her in this puddle was Gansey. 

It was so unmistakably _him,_ In an Aglionby uniform and everything, that Ronan was struck dumb. 

"What is it?" Gansey asked, and came to peer over Ronan's shoulder. Evidently he saw the same thing as Ronan did, because he cocked his head, a frown line appearing between his brows. 

As they watched, the girl in the puddle stood on her tiptoes and drew puddle-Gansey down to her level; she had a look of aching loss on her face, while this Gansey only looked distant, distracted. He closed his eyes when she kissed him. 

A moment later he was slumping in her arms and, unable to hold his weight, the girl quickly lowered him to the ground. Kneeling beside him she covered her face, shoulders shaking as she wept. The silent image rippled, distorted, and then was gone. 

The shocked realization that he'd just witnessed the death of his best friend, even in this highly unlikely circumstance, left Ronan silent and cold. 

"Do you know her?" Olivia asked Gansey; he shook his head. 

"Never seen her before." He too was looking a little stunned. 

"Fuck magic," Ronan sighed, trying to shake off the eerie feeling. "Come on, before Parrish gets too far ahead of us." He dragged Gansey closer to him, releasing his sweaty hand to sling an arm around his shoulders. "It's just messing with your head, man." 

Olivia looked dubious, but continued on the path, rounding a slight bend to find Adam and Noah standing side-by-side, looking at a raised platform. 

Atop the dais was... 

"Is that a coffin?" Gansey asked, and his voice was a tad high-pitched. Ronan couldn't blame him; after witnessing a scene of your own death, stumbling upon a coffin in a strange place like this probably didn't feel too awesome. 

Noah, with some effort, approached the platform. He had to jump to give himself a boost to climb onto it. 

"Noah," Gansey protested, but he was already approaching the thing, pushing open the lid with a creak. 

"It's okay," he said softly. "He won't hurt us." 

It was the 'he' that sparked noticable interest in Gansey's eyes. His lips formed the word, but he made no sound: _Glendower?_

It wasn't Glendower. Ronan knew this with a certainty he couldn't explain. Following Adam and Olivia, he too pulled himself onto the platform, then bent to help Gansey up before turning to peer in the coffin. 

It was a human skeleton, dusty and dry and stained a tea-brown. Parts of it had whithered to dust, but the thick skull remained intact. As they watched, it shifted, struggled to sit up. Olivia let out a strained sound that may have been a whimper. 

"Shh," Noah said, face tender, and reached in to cradle the smooth jaw without squeamishness or hesitation. "It's okay. You can rest now. You don't have to hurt anymore." 

It felt like a holy ceremony as he bent to kiss its brow. The voice that whispered, like autumn leaves rattling in the wind, came not from the skeleton but from the moss, the walls, the chamber itself. 

_Thank you._

Goosebumps stood out on Ronan's arms as the entire skeleton crumbled to dust before his eyes and the lights from the moss faded into nothing. Plunged in sudden blackness, the lurching of the ground beneath their feet made Gansey yelp. 

Seizing Olivia in his arms, Ronan shoved her into Gansey and pressed them both hard into the side of the coffin, shielding them with his body as the entire place quaked violently. He bent his knees to absorb the impact and keep his balance and heard the brief buzzing of insects in his ears. Through raining debris he saw Adam dive for Noah, holding him tight; though Noah held Adam back his expression was almost rapturous, gazing at the ceiling in naked awe. Ronan had never seen him smile like that before and he, too, looked up, trying to see what brought the strange boy such joy, but he saw nothing at all. 

It was over as quickly as it had begun, the mausoleum around them letting out a few shuddering aftershocks before once more becoming calm and still; Ronan hadn't realized how charged with magic and electricity the air had been until it suddenly no longer was. There was a click, and then Gansey turned the light back on his miner's helmet. 

"What _was_ that?!" Olivia exclaimed as Ronan released them and she helped Gansey back to his feet, brushing the dust and debris off of each other. 

Cryptically, Noah said, "Henrietta is full of trapped and dead things. Glendower isn't the only one, you know."


	11. Pancakes

Olivia was still looking a bit shell-shocked as she held open Agnes' trailer door for Adam, waiting for him to step inside before her. He busied himself with latching the door properly behind them and then watching as she sat at the breakfast nook.

"You kids back already?" Agnes called from back in her room, and Adam must have replied with a passable, if shaky, _"Yeah,"_ because she merely grunted and let them be. 

Adam slid across the table from Olivia. "You doing okay?" he asked, and offered her a smile. "It's a bit much to take in." 

Her dark eyes took him in for a moment, and then she reached across the small table and pulled something from his hair; when he withdrew he saw that she was holding a clump of that glowing blue moss; dim and dead now, it looked no more substantial than old drier lint. 

"So, magic is real," she said conversationally, her voice steady and forced-calm. Adam nodded. 

"Yep." 

They sat in silence for another minute; Olivia crushed the moss in her fist and folded her arms. 

"You and your friends... go on a lot of magic adventures?" 

"Well," Adam grinned a bit. "Not usually that intense. That was new." 

"That girl in the puddle," she mused, and played with the end of her own hair. They'd discussed the scene in the car, though none could say what it meant. "I _know_ her. Somewhere. It'll hit me in a minute." 

She stood and walked purposefully for the stove, turning it on and flinging open cabinets. Adam's little grin softened to a real smile as he watched her; "When in Doubt, Make Pancakes" was a life motto she took seriously. 

"You look sexy holding a wooden spoon," he said, half joking, and though he couldn't see her face he knew she was smiling. 

"My boyfriend thinks so too," she retorted, and Adam gave an exaggerated sigh, snapping his fingers. 

"What's this one's name?" he asked. "Billy-Bob? Willie-Mae?" 

The look she shot over her shoulder was poison with a dash of sugar. "Do you want pancakes or do you want to be kicked out?" 

He held his hands up in surrender. "Pancakes, please ma'am." 

The sizzle of batter was comforting. Olivia's pancakes were always perfect; silver-dollar sized and a beautiful gold color. She dropped a few on a plate and passed it over; he ate them immediately, so hot they burned his tongue. 

Olivia snorted and sat down with her own plate. "What about you?" she asked, jutting her chin out mock-defensively. "You ever find your-" she gestured in the vague area of her own collarbone. 

Adam shook his head. "I'm not really in a hurry to find them," he said, trying to play it off as if he hadn't grown curious lately. "Whoever they are." 

"Liar." They ate in silence for a second, then, choosing her timing deliberately as Adam was taking a sip of water- "So does that grouchy guy ever say anything about you staring at his ass all the time? _My eyes are up here, Parrish."_ She said the last bit in a passable, Ronan-esque sneer. 

Adam choked, spraying water everywhere. Snickering evilly, Olivia ducked under the table, taking her pancakes with her. 

"I- I don't-" Adam coughed, eyes streaming and throat stinging. "I wouldn't-" 

"Then why are your ears so red?!" Olivia cackled. 

"Do I hear sounds of distress?" Agnes asked, coming out of her bedroom. She was wearing a festive, if worn, Christmas sweater and was still holding a spool of green ribbon. "I know the Heimlich!" 

"Only the sounds of manful pining," Olivia replied, peeking up from under the table to bat her eyelashes at her aunt. "Adam likes a rich boy." 

"Hm," Agnes nodded sagely. "Heartache indeed." 

Though her face was impassive Adam got the distinct impression that she was teasing him, too. This was confirmed when she said, "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Coffee Boy you're always complaining about?" 

The fact that she remembered that incident from so long ago caused Adam to bury his face in his arms, groaning his defeat. 

"Liking Lynch would be like liking a bull that's seen red," he mumbled into the table. 

Climbing back up, Olivia poked him in the ankle with her toe. "Probably for the best," she said, and her smile had become gentle when he peeked back up at her. "Liking a Marked boy is hard." 

Adam momentarily found himself unable to put her meaning together- the audio dissonance with logic in his head clashing. A marked boy...? 

"Ronan's not marked?" he said; it came out as a question. 

Olivia shrugged. "Well when he smushed my _face_ with his hand back in that cave there was something on his wrist." 

Adam felt a funny, bubbling sensation in his stomach. He'd probably eaten those pancakes too fast. "Probably a tattoo." 

"Maybe." Olivia shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "Auntie, you look like you want to say something." 

Agnes did; she gave Adam a hearty clap on the shoulder. "I showed my cousin the work you did on my truck," she said. "He runs an autoshop in town. He said you're good- really good for someone not really trained. He's hiring. I know you were looking to make more money." 

Adam couldn't remember ever being so grateful or disappointed by a subject change before. 

**###**

Generally the only person who called Gansey this late at night was Mallory, but the area code appearing on his phone was local. Puzzled, he swiped past the lock screen to answer. 

"I know who that girl was!" The tinny female voice on the other end of the line was foreign to him at first, until he put the pieces together. 

"Olivia? Are you talking about what we saw in the mausoleum?" 

"Yes, yes, whatever," he could see her waving the question away impatiently. "Listen- I only have a second; Adam's dad doesn't like us using the phone at night. That girl was Blue Sargent- I go to school with her. She's the daughter of a house of witches or psychics or something." 

This was a lot to process. "Are you... certain?" he asked, and then added, "Do you know how to contact this, uh, Sargent?" 

"I think her cousin Orla told someone she'd gotten a job at Nino's? I don't know. I'll look into it." 

There was some clattering in the background, and a raised male voice. "I've gotta go," Olivia said, in a more hushed tone, and hung up before Gansey had a chance to say anything else.


	12. A Half-Formed Bond

Noah hadn't been to Nino's since, well, since _before._ He always chose to wait in the BMW when Ronan went to pick up a pie, if he bothered to come at all.

Now, with Ronan driving and him sitting in the backseat between the window and Adam, he felt squirmy and uncomfortable, something akin to dread in his stomach. 

"I think I should probably go home..." he said nervously, to the back of Gansey's head. Olivia reached over Adam's lap and squeezed Noah's cold hand. 

"Anxiety?" she asked kindly. "I have it too. You can sit between me and the wall if that makes you feel any better." 

It did, marginally. Her hand was warm in his and he was glad to have something to hold onto, though he had to let go when Ronan parked and they got out of the car. 

Inside it was just as smoky and noisy and buzzing with positive, youthful energy as it had been when he was alive- but the subtle differences were foreign enough to make him feel wrong and queasy. 

They'd rearranged some of the tables; the art on the wall was different, and he only recognized one of the employees they saw from the doorway. It dimly occurred to him that the chipper twenty-something lady that greeted them and lead them to a table was, technically, younger than him and he felt the familiar stirrings of bitterness. It wasn't fair that all these people got to age, got to change when... 

Adam startled when the napkins blew across the table and onto the floor by an impossible breeze; Ronan shot Noah a funny look and he worked to calm down. 

A tiny pair of black mary-janes with daisies on the toes stopped before the fallen napkins and a girl bent to pick them up and stuff them into her apron pocket. When she straightened up, Noah took her face in. Small-boned and wide-eyed, she had an almost elfin quality about her. This was contrasted with her husky and disinterested voice when she spoke: 

"Thank you for coming to Nino's, can I get you started with something to drink?" 

"Blue!" Olivia exclaimed in a false note of cheeriness and the girl's attention was caught at the sound of her name. 

"Do I know you?" she asked, a thin black eyebrow raising quizzically. Noah noticed she had the same warm accent Olivia and, occasionally, Adam had. 

"Yeah!" Olivia was still going the perky-toned route. "We go to school together. I've seen you around." 

"Huh," this _Blue_ was already losing interest. She offered Olivia a small smile. "Well, I guess I'll see you around this fall then." Tucking some of her asymmetrically cut hair behind her ear (it immediately fell over her eyes again) she pulled out her notepad. "Drinks?" 

She wasn't especially friendly but it was clear with the way Adam and Gansey- and, if he was reading her right, Olivia- were looking at her that they found her attractive. As usual Ronan was looking at Adam, but Noah was the only one who noticed that. 

They ordered iced tea all around and then she was walking away, five feet nothing and mightier than a tiger. 

"Well," Gansey said to the group, a bit too loudly. 

"You think that's her?" Olivia asked. 

"Looks like the one in the puddle," Ronan agreed. 

"Okay, great!" Adam said, seeming a bit agitated. "Well what the hell do we say? _Hey there! So we saw a vision in a magic glowing cave of you making out with and then killing this guy right here! Can we get some garlic knots?"_

Ronan's mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smirk; he liked Adam's sarcasm, Noah could tell, though he propped the menu in front of his face to hide it. Gansey's face had tinged a bit pink at the words 'making out.' 

Blue returned with their drinks and Ronan ordered a large pizza for everyone to share. When she was turning to go, Olivia stopped her. 

"How, um, how is Orla doing?" she asked. Blue didn't smile exactly, but something had softened. Maybe family was the way into this one's good graces. 

"She's good," she said, propping her hip against the side of the booth to give her feet a rest for a moment. "Just finished her senior year, she's looking into community college. I can tell her you said hi if you want to give me a name." 

"Olivia Gavin," said Olivia, and a small dimple appeared in her cheek. "Girls soccer." 

"Will do," Blue said, and then left to drop their order off at the kitchen. 

"How do we even know it's her?" Ronan asked, when she was out of earshot. "The mausoleum could just have been screwing with us. It doesn't necessarily mean anything." 

"Her family is a bunch of _psychics,_ Ronan!" Olivia exclaimed, leaning in slightly. Excitement shone bright in her eyes; it was clear she was getting into the fun of it. "What are the odds that someone who looks exactly like the daughter of a psychic shows up in a magical puddle?" 

"Maybe we should look into her family some," Gansey mused. "I could research them..." 

"Or we could set up an appointment!" Olivia was relentless. "Actually meet them!" 

"Gansey," Adam said thoughtfully. "Stand up when she comes with the pizza. I just want to see something." 

Looking puzzled, Gansey nevertheless did as asked when she returned with a steaming hot pie half the size of the table and loaded with every topping known to man. Noah saw what Adam had wanted instantly: to compare the heights of the two. Though the shortest boy of their group, Gansey was still roughly a head taller than she. 

"Excuse me," Gansey said, and, clearly unsure what of else to do, walked past her to the bathroom. 

"Alright," Ronan said upon Gansey's return as they began to divvy up the monstrosity, long trails of cheese stretching to thinness as pieces were pulled from tray to plate. "So she's the girl in the puddle and we're meeting some... psychics?" He looked dubious. "What is our plan here?" 

"You're not gonna like it," Olivia said quietly. 

**###**

Ronan hated this plan. 

"You're radiating a lot of negative energy," the woman with the ridiculous waterfall of white-blonde hair told him as she sat across from him in the overcluttered living room. "This could affect our reading. Perhaps some calming tea-" 

"- or brandy," the muscular woman next to her muttered. 

"Calla, we are not giving alcohol to minors," the third woman sighed, exasperated. This one looked like an older, taller Blue. 

"Oh please, like this one doesn't drink already," the one called Calla snorted and rolled her eyes. 

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Olivia said politely. They were practically sharing one cushion on the flowery loveseat, as the other cushion was occupied by one angry and very pregnant cat. He could feel her hipbone stabbing him and it only darkened his mood. 

"Yes we are usually terribly busy this close to Christmas," said the one that looked like Blue, who seemed to be the most relatable of the trio. "But lucky for you kids Ms. Willow had a, uh, cancellation." 

"She died," Calla said bluntly. 

"We knew it would happen sometime this month," the blonde one explained blithely. "It seems she no longer needs us to commune with her husband now." 

Olivia laughed, a bit nervously. "Well, my boyfriend here-" 

"Oh that's unfortunate," the blonde one started to say, but the middle one interrupted her with a look and a sharp, _"Persephone."_

"- we wanted to talk to, um, Ronan's... father." For someone who had sounded so certain of her plan the night before, Olivia's confidence was clearly waning, probably due to the fact that Ronan was glaring daggers at their feet. 

"Well like Persephone said," Calla explained. "We can't. This one is not receptive to it, and you're making him uncomfortable. Why don't you let your 'boyfriend' decide when he's ready for that?" 

Olivia blinked at her, stunned quiet. Ronan, too, looked up in some surprise. Calla snorted and rolled her eyes, and held out her palm. "Hand?" 

Ronan stared blankly at the appendage until Olivia elbowed him; then, with some reluctance, he held his hand to Calla and flinched minutely when she grabbed it and closed her eyes. 

"I don't need cards for this one," she mumbled. "I can read his life like a book. A half-formed soul bond. Fury. A death. An ability he doesn't understand." Her eyes opened and she met Ronan's horrified gaze. "This one has no idea what he is," she said finally. 

The room was silent as Ronan snatched his hand back. 

"That was unkind, Calla," the middle one chided. "He isn't ready for-" 

A door the next room opened creaked open and a pair of footsteps could be heard creaking on the stairs. "Mom, have you seen my jacket?" a voice called, but Ronan had already leapt to his feet. 

"You don't know," he said, hands shaking violently. "You don't know a goddamned thing about me. And _you,_ he turned on Maura. "Don't know _jack fucking shit_ about what I am and am not ready for. You're all just a bunch of hacks-" 

He took a single step towards where they sat on their three armchairs when a shoe came flying from the doorway and collided solidly with his head. He whirled around to see Blue standing there, anger and resolution in her eyes. "Don't talk to my mother that way!" she said fearlessly. 

Olivia took his momentary speechlessness as an opportunity to stand and grab Ronan's arm, hauling him towards the door. "This was a bad idea," she said. "We should go." She looked thoroughly unhappy; her brilliant plan had crashed and burned so spectacularly. Ronan fought to remain still, his gaze still fixed on the inhabitants of 300 Fox Way. Blue had another sneaker in her hand ready to throw. 

"Oh put it down," Calla snapped at Blue. "He's not going to do anything." 

Blue glowered, but after a moment she dropped it as asked. "I know you," she said, regarding the two. "You were at Nino's yesterday. Are you following me?" 

Ronan's, "yes," was drowned out by Olivia's, "no." They turned their glares on each other for a moment. 

"Why don't you tell us why you're really here?" Persephone suggested gently. Ronan looked longingly towards the door, but finally gave in and sat back down with a grunt. Olivia followed suit. 

Coming into the room, Blue set her bag down and perched precariously on the arm of the loveseat, close to the cat. 

Tentatively, and with some prompting, Olivia explained the story, Ronan supplying responses in little more than grunts and sharp nods. 

When they reached the end of the tale Maura asked, "So why did you two come here today? Why not bring this 'Gansey' person?" 

Blue snorted. "They're afraid being around me will kill him," she said. "Because I'm so prone to going around and kissing everyone I meet as principle. It's a terrible habit of mine, you see." 

Ronan resented her sarcasm. It came too close to his own. 

"Enchanted places of death are always full of strange happenings," Persephone mused. "There could be truth in what you saw. Likely, however, it's just a small pocket on the ley line where a spirit was trapped. Tricks and illusions are just as likely as predictions." 

"Go on," Calla prompted. "Say what we're all thinking." 

"It is interesting that it was with a kiss that Blue felled Gansey, seeing as she is cursed in such a way. Blue, have you ever been to this mausoleum, that it should know you like this?" 

Blue shook her head; at Ronan's quizzical look she explained, "Okay so I'm cursed. I kiss my true love, he dies. But I don't even _know_ this guy. Tell him he's safe from my Lips of Death or whatever." 

"We'll keep an eye out for your Gansey on St Mark's eve. You said he was born in Henrietta? We might see him. More than likely, we will not." Maura gave a small, bright laugh. "Lighten up, guys. It's Christmas." 

They talked more, but it became clear that they had learned all they would from this venture. On walking back towards the BMW Calla stopped Ronan with a hand on the doorframe. 

"You should tell him soon," she said. "A half-formed bond isn't good for anyone. It'll drain you dry." 

Ronan gave no nod of agreement or shrug of dissent. He simply pushed past her, determined never to return again.


	13. Moon Lizards

Christmas dawned bright and early in Monmouth Manufacturing when Ronan, Noah, and Gansey were woken by a frantic pounding on the front door.

"Mrnh?" Gansey sat up, reaching for his glasses, as Noah peeked his head out of his room. 

"Oh god," Ronan could be heard groaning from his room. "Make it stop." 

The knocking didn't stop. It continued in rhythms, broken bits of song, and then changed energetically to another count of notes- quarters, eights, sixteenths. To Gansey's sleep-deprived brain it seemed as if a deranged and caffeine-mad woodpecker had a personal vendetta against them. 

Sliding out of bed he padded barefoot to the door and cautiously pulled it open only to be enveloped in a hug that yanked him off his toes. 

"Merry Christmas Gansey-boy!" Matthew shouted, squeezing the breath from his lungs and swinging him a little bit. Gansey felt like a ragdoll caught in a hyper blonde whirlwind. He was quickly set back down and caught in a headlock, his hair scrubbed vigorously under a pair of large knuckles. "Do you know where that brother-o'-mine is hiding? Ronan! Stop being a grinch!" 

He didn't have to go looking: at the sound of his brother's voice Ronan immediately ran from his bedroom, looking rumpled in his pajamas, and greeted Matthew as only one Lynch brother can greet another. 

Gansey stepped back as the two were rolling on the ground, laughing and yelping and looking altogether more hyena than boy. He thought they were probably happy- Ronan's profuse string of creative obsceneties and Matthew's giggling being prime evidence. 

Feeling windswept, Gansey sat heavily at the foot of his bed and massaged his temples. He was joined by Noah, who nervously asked, "Should we stop them?" 

"Not unless you want your hand bitten off," Gansey muttered back. He generally didn't intervene in Lynch family greetings unless there was bloodspill. 

Speaking of which- 

A shadow fell over the doorframe; Noah and Gansey glanced up to see Declan, face expressionless, suit impeccable, a large basket in his arms. 

"Declan," Noah warned, and immediately Ronan fell still, some of Matthew's hair still caught in his mouth. The tension was both immediate and suffocating. 

"Come on, guys," Matthew whined. "It's Christmas." 

"I'm only here because Matthew needed a ride," Declan declared, as if there were any doubt about it. 

Ronan sat up, disentangling himself from their little brother. "Big surprise." 

When he stood, Gansey was struck again by just how much the older of the two Lynch brothers looked alike, while Matthew was a complete outlier. He supposed he must have gotten the blonde hair from his mother, but he didn't seem to have the shape or facial features of either of his parents. Matthew looked like a grizzly bear crossed with a cherub. 

Declan held the basket out to Ronan; when he didn't take it, he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion and instead held it out to Gansey. It was heavier than Gansey expected and he quickly set it down on the bed. Inside were a dozen or so messily-wrapped gifts. 

"For all of you," Matthew said, smiling, and Ronan smiled back. "There's some for Adam too." 

"Oh hey!" Ronan said, stepping quickly into his room and emerging with something that looked a lot like an opaque, ten-gallon terrarium- it must have been lighter than it looked; he didn't strain to hold it at all. A faint glowing emanated from inside. 

"Is that a... lizard?" Matthew asked, peeking inside. 

"She's a moon lizard," Ronan explained. "She sleeps most of the time. You don't need to feed it; she processes moonlight." 

Gently Matthew reached into the tank and pulled the tiny creature out; she held still in his palm, skin a dull silver color. When she opened her eyes, they looked exactly like moonlight sparkling on a still lake. 

"Wow," Matthew breathed, childlike excitement shining on his face. "She's so pretty! Thank you!" His cheeks warmed pink with genuine delight when she licked his thumb. "This is just like the things dad used to give us." 

Declan's face grew sour, suspicious, as he shot Ronan a glance. Ronan pretended not to notice. When Matthew moved so that sunlight from the many windows came into contact with the creature she hid her face in a cringe, her skin now glowing the color of a new dime. 

"Sorry!" Matthew apologized, and put her back into her tank where the thick bubbled glass protected her. He hugged the whole thing close to his chest. 

"Is that thing going to live in our dorm?" Declan asked, with the air of one who already knew the answer and was resigning themself to it. 

"Yep! Let's go set it up right now, before we go see mom." 

Ronan looked up sharply. "You're visiting her?" 

"Obviously," Declan sneered. "We'd invite you along if you would deign to put yourself in my car, but seeing as how much of a pain in the ass you are..." 

Ronan's jaw worked, and Gansey read the emotions flickering in his cold blue eyes. Annoyance, anger, frustration, then finally a begrudging acceptance. 

"Give me a minute to get dressed," he grumbled, and stepped back into his bedroom. 

"Gansey," Declan nodded his head in farewell before stepping back out to the car. He didn't so much as glance at Noah, as usual acting as if he were invisible. It rankled Gansey every time it happened, but Noah didn't seem to notice or care. 

In less than ten minutes, Monmouth was Lynch-free. 

"Whoa," Gansey sighed, falling back onto the bed. Noah fell back too, and rolled so they were facing each other. 

"Merry Christmas?" he asked, and Gansey couldn't help but smile. 

"Merry Christmas." 

**###**

Blue groaned, and framed her bulging belly with her palms. Christmas lunch at 300 Fox Way was quite something: though not all the inhabitants celebrated Christian holidays, most celebrated something for the season. Chanukah and Diwali were the most popular, as well as generic winter solstice festivities. Everyone made some kind of food, and all of it was delicious. "I could die happy right now," she said. 

"That's because you're secretly a fatty," said Orla. "And you're so short that one day you'll just be a ball I can roll from room to room." 

"Hm, that sounds nice." Blue was too blissed out to be too bothered by her cousin's saltiness. 

Orla laughed and, standing behind Blue's chair, reached for her tea cup, resting her chin on Blue's head as she did so. Grabbing a random plate with only a few crumbs on it, she dumped the sodden leaves out. 

"Oh, Orla," Blue mumbled in protest. "No readings today. They always say the same thing." 

As expected, Orla ignored her. "Hm," she said impassively, looking at the plate, turning it from side to side. "Interesting." She didn't offer any more information than that and, despite herself, Blue was a bit curious. 

"Well, what?" she asked. "What is 'interesting'?" 

"These tea leaves say..." Orla paused dramatically. "That you are a huge nerd." 

Cackling, she sprang to her feet and ran for it as Blue waddled angrily after her. 

**###**

It was dark by the time Adam got off work; peeking in Agnes' kitchen revealed Olivia was already asleep, curled in a ball on her air mattress with her dark hair falling over her face. Gently he tucked it behind her ear, then left a small wrapped box by her pillow. It was just a little silver bracelet he'd hidden under the counter at the store so no customers bought it before he was ready to, but he thought she'd like it.

It was cold and still when he walked the rest of the way to his own trailer; there was a light still on inside and he felt a pang of nervousness in his gut. His father usually drank more on Christmas; hopefully he'd already passed out some time ago. 

With caution, he opened the door and saw his mother's thin shoulders slumped as she sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly out the window. 

"Mom," he said softly, and she startled, turning to look at him. "Oh, Adam," she said, and gave a forced little smile. Her mouth was bruised, and her jaw. Adam had a pretty good guess of why; he'd seen his father grab her too hard, force sloppy drunken kisses on her before. It made his stomach twist a little anxiously. 

"Hey, sugar," she was speaking quietly. Not a bad sign: it meant his father was sleeping. "How was work?" 

He approached the table, sitting across from her. Her cheek was a bit swollen too, and a pang of guilt rose in him. If he'd been home too... well, he'd be the one bruised instead. "It was alright," he said, but his voice sounded fake in his ears. "It's my second to last day there; I'll be working as a mechanic for Agnes' cousin by New Years." 

"Well that's great!" she looked truly happy for him. She reached as if to take his hand, then seemed to change her mind. "That's great. And, uh, how is school going?" 

It'd been a while since they'd spoken. He struggled to think of anything interesting to tell her; he knew she liked art, so he talked a little about the classic artists they'd been studying. It was a treat to see genuine interest shine in her eyes. He made a mental note to bring home a book or two on the subject for her when school restarted. 

A pair of headlights turning in front of his trailer made his brow furrow, puzzled, and he glanced out the window to see a familiar BMW parked. Ronan didn't get out of the car, but made eye contact with Adam, waiting for him to come outside. 

"Your friend's here," said Adam's mother. She seemed a little sad. 

"I'll just be a minute," Adam promised, and, on impulse, leaned across the table to kiss her forehead. She blinked in surprise. "Merry Christmas, mom." 

Opening the passenger door to the BMW, Adam asked, "what's up?" 

"I need to talk to you." Ronan stared resolutely ahead and, with some puzzlement, Adam climbed fully into the car, shutting the door. "Can we..." Ronan paused for a second. "Can I take you somewhere?"


	14. Fuck the Law

It was hot in Ronan's car; Adam hadn't realized how chilled he was until he was perched on the heated seat, the air vent pouring warm air onto his cheeks and hands. He shivered as he acclimated to the temperature change.

Without a word Ronan reached into the backseat and grabbed his leather jacket, tossing it onto Adam's lap. Adam hesitated, then pulled it over himself. It smelled like Ronan- like trees. 

"Where are we going?" Adam asked, when they turned onto a main street. It was dead empty, as it had been when Adam had walked from work. Most people were likely at home with their families, sleeping or enjoying the holiday together. 

Ronan was quiet as the streetlight flicked from red to green, and began driving again. He wasn't going at his customary reckless pace, but a thoughtful, leisurely one. For once, Adam couldn't read his facial expression. It made him feel uncertain. 

"Ly- Ronan?" 

At the sound of his given name, Ronan glanced expectantly at Adam, who swallowed nervously. "Is everything okay? Is Gansey-" 

"Everyone's fine." He made no motion to turn onto the street that lead to Monmouth, or towards Aglionby, or town. They drove for miles deeper into the country. Finally growing too warm Adam folded Ronan's jacket and held it on his lap, missing the calming scent. It was too quiet. 

"What did you do today?" he asked. 

Ronan remained silent for so long Adam was beginning to regret asking when finally he spoke: "I went to see my mother." 

"Oh?" Adam's interest was piqued. Ronan never talked about his family, although Declan, the senior, and Matthew, the Freshman, were by now familiar faces in the halls of Aglionby. "How is she?" 

"She's..." Ronan swallowed hard and then continued, as if forcing himself to speak with great difficulty. "She's been in a coma since. You know. Since my dad died." 

"Oh." It made sense: he wondered if Ronan and Matthew had temporarily been placed in Declan's custody, as the older boy was surely eighteen now, or if they were in custody of the school itself. 

Ronan seemed to be struggling with his thoughts. He opened his mouth a few times and closed it, finally choking out in a gruff tone, "You've probably heard rumors. You know. About my dad." 

"I've heard some things." Adam's tone was careful. He knew Ronan better now, knew there was more to him than met the eye. 

"He wasn't home much. He travelled a lot. I didn't even know he was coming home the morning I found him. I looked outside and saw his car in the driveway and I got so excited... but he wasn't downstairs. I went to the car, like maybe he was in there stuck on a long phone call or something, you know?" 

Adam nodded, waiting for the shoe to drop. 

"I..." Ronan swallowed hard. "I stepped on him. I didn't know what I was looking at. He was. Half under the BMW and I tried to pull him out and his head-" 

He struggled to describe what he had seen; his voice caught and this seemed to make him angry. They began to drive faster, more recklessly, and, agitated, he pounded the steering wheel with his fist. _"Fuck."_

"Alright, alright," alarmed now, Adam dared put a hand on Ronan's forearm. "Hey, maybe we can pull over for a second, huh?" 

Ronan grit his teeth hard and forced himself to slow to a reasonable speed, though it was clearly his inclination to drive recklessly, to race away from his problems. Adam was at a complete loss for what to say. 

"Lynch, that sucks, man," he finally managed to get out, when it was clear Ronan wasn't going to say more. "That sucks more than anything I can imagine. It's fucking ridiculous. It's shitty. It's-" again he found himself tongue-tied. "How much does Gansey know?" 

Ronan shrugged. "He was there, you know. For all of it. He was Gansey." 

Adam nodded. He _did_ know. Of course Gansey would have been Gansey. "I'm glad you told me," he said. 

Ronan shrugged again. 

They were driving in a more rural area of Virginia now; acres of farmland, actual houses and barns few and far between. They turned on what, to Adam, did not look like much of a road; a narrow dirt path between trees he was amazed the BMW could navigate. 

"Lynch, what-" he tried again, bouncing in his seat as they drove over sharp dips and bumpy rocks. Snowmelt framed the trees on either side of them, making the path slick. Finally, they stopped. The lack of streetlights meant that it only the pinprick beams of headlights illuminated the paths ahead as Ronan parked. 

"The edge of the Barnes," he said. "The closest we can legally get to my home right now." 

Adam squinted ahead. There was a shape that might be a building in the darkness. Ronan's agitation was clearly rising, and if he'd learned anything about this boy it was that to keep him contained in times of emotional distress was a bad idea. 

"Fuck the law," he said, and opened the door. "Come on." 

He had a miniature flashlight on his keychain- courtesy of Gansey- and shone it on the ground as he slipped from the car, tugging Ronan's jacket over his shoulders and zipping it up to his chin. The ground was soggy under his feet but he pressed on. 

"Parrish!" Ronan hastened to keep up, and now a hand was grabbing his arm. "Parrish, are you crazy?" 

Adam shrugged, but kept walking. "You want to go home. You didn't take me all the way here just to park in some dark woods." 

Evidentially Ronan didn't have an argument for that, as he fell into pace at Adam's side. 

The air was cold on his exposed ears and after a moment he clapped his palms over them. Ronan must have noticed because a second later he felt a hand digging into the jacket pocket and producing a beanie, which he gratefully put on. The incline was so steep that he felt himself getting out of breath. 

"There isn't an easier way up here?" he panted. Ronan didn't reply. 

Finally he saw something on the ground and, focusing the beam of the flashlight, he saw what looked like stepping stones. He skidded on some loose, dead leaves and felt Ronan's hand grasp his arm hard, hauling him up until they stood on one of the flat, circular stones together. 

Catching his breath, Adam angled the flashlight up and startled. He didn't realize Ronan was so close, also looking a little breathless. His lashes cast long shadows over his cheek and he wet his lip with his tongue, meeting Adam's eyes. 

Adam's heart skipped a beat, and he didn't blame it on the impromptu climbing exercise. 

"Lynch?" he said quietly, daring to shift some so that he was pressing lightly into Ronan. If he was reading him right- 

Ronan shook his head, climbing quickly to the next stone. "Let's get to the house first," he said, turning his back on Adam. "I still haven't told you what I came to say." 

Feeling a pang of loss at the lack of contact, Adam bit hard on his own lip and followed silently, finally reaching what looked like a basement window that Ronan pushed open. Dropping onto his belly on the wet grass, he wriggled through the small rectangular space and fell with a crash. Adam quickly shone his light down and saw a glimpse of a leg. "Did you hurt yourself?" 

"No." Ronan's voice was a wheeze, like he'd been winded. "Let me just get up and open the front door-" 

But Adam was already scooting through the window himself, landing with slightly more grace on the basement floor. 

He rolled to face Ronan, who was struggling to prop himself up on his elbow, looking intently at Adam below him. "Never knew you'd be the one encouraging me to engage in a life of crime, Parrish," he said, with an attempt at a grin. 

Adam smiled back a little, sitting up too. Was this flirting? It felt like flirting. He wondered if it was appropriate to flirt after talking about the murder of Ronan's father. He wished he were wearing anything other than his Jimmerson's uniform. 

"So," he cleared his throat. "This is... your home, huh?" He moved his little beam of light around the walls, looking for a proper light switch. It was almost as cold as standing outside- clearly the heat was off. "The electricity still on?" 

"I don't know," Ronan said. "My, uh, brother was talking about moving mom from hospice back to here, so they'd have to restart all that stuff eventually but it's been off, since, you know." 

Again, Adam was at a loss for what to say. It looked like Ronan had the faintest of freckles on the bridge of his nose; he'd never noticed those before. He wanted to touch them, and saw no reason not to. 

Cupping Ronan's cheek he ran his thumb over the faded marks and Ronan closed his eyes, leaning into Adam's hand. Adam's heart kicked up a notch as he touched a fine cheekbone, brushed his stubbled jaw with his knuckles. When he touched a finger to Ronan's lip he felt the other boy's breath hitch slightly, and a hand came to gently grasp his wrist and pull him away. 

"Sorry," Adam said, voice a bit hoarse. He wondered if he'd gotten too pushy, but Ronan wasn't letting go of his hand. 

"Don't be." Ronan's voice was also sounding off. "Uh, come on. Let's see if we can start the generator up." He stood and laced his fingers through Adam's, heading for the basement stairs. Adam fought to keep a smile off his face. _Smooth._

The light switches were not working, but on the curve of the staircase there was a metal box that Ronan opened, and Adam held the light steady as he worked the buttons, switches, and knobs. After a minute there was an electrical humming, and a grin of pride on Ronan's face. 

"Congrats," Adam said, a bit drily. "You have conquered Machine." 

"I am Man," Ronan replied, and then ducked his head as he snorted out a laugh, and Adam's grin doubled. This time it was he who boldly took Ronan's hand as they walked the rest of the way up the stairs. Peeking at Ronan's face from the corner of his eye, he saw a pleased little smile gracing the curve of his lips. 

At the top of the stairwell leading into what looked like a kitchen, Ronan tried a light switch. The overhead lights flickered, then remained steady. "There, see-" he started to say, and Adam dropped a kiss on his cheek. 

The result was instantaneous: Ronan's entire face went as red as it had Halloween night and Adam was unable to stifle his giggles, burying his face in Ronan's shoulder as his own shoulders shook. Ronan was unreasonably cute. 

"Oh yeah?" Ronan growled in mock anger. "Well..." 

He hooked a finger under Adam's chin and tilted his face up, taking a moment to gather his nerves before diving in, kissing Adam squarely on the mouth. 

Adam stopped giggling. When Ronan tried to pull away he unconsciously chased his mouth, claiming it again and again. Butterflies he couldn't remember having felt in a long time swooped in his stomach as he clutched handfuls of Ronan's shirt in his fists, pulling him closer as he backed into the wall of the landing. Ronan made a noise that caused the hair to stand up on the back of his neck, made him shiver a bit. 

"Lynch," he grunted, when teeth scraped his lower lip, and Ronan sighed, dropping his forehead onto Adam's and meeting his eyes. 

Adam cleared his throat, managed to choke out a soft, "Merry Christmas, Ronan." 

Ronan appeared to be studying him very closely, and when he spoke he did so slowly, carefully choosing his words as if each one cost him dear. 

"Adam... I need to tell you this now. We, you and I..." 

He pulled his bands off his wrist, then held his naked hand up to the light for Adam to study the Mark there. Adam blinked in dull surprise. 

"We're soulbonded, Adam."


	15. A Cat in the Fireplace

There was a cat in the fireplace.

Adam stared dully at the fat orange creature curled on a bed of charred wood with puzzlement; for one heart-stopping moment he thought it must be dead somehow, but its pink nostrils moved subtly with each breath. 

Reaching into the fireplace he touched it lightly, and then more firmly, trying to shake it awake. When it didn't budge he reached with both hands and lifted it out. It was warm, and soft, limp as an overcooked noodle in his hands. It left dust and ash residue on his fingers. 

"Lynch...?" he called out in uncertainty; the creature's head lolled in what looked like an uncomfortable way and he quickly propped it on his shoulder. "I think there's something wrong with your cat." 

Ronan peeked around the kitchen wall and took in the bundle Adam held. His expression changed, something a little sad in his eyes. 

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, that's Pangur. He um. He's like that right now." 

Adam quirked an eyebrow and waited for further explanation, but none came; Ronan simply took the cat from him and carried it upstairs, presumably to a bedroom. Rolling his eyes at Ronan's evasiveness, Adam resumed his original goal: building a fire. It was positively freezing in this house, even wearing Ronan's jacket and beanie like he was. 

Cautiously Adam sorted through the rest of the fireplace, shifting ash and wood and crumpled newspaper and staining his hands a filthy gray in search of more sleeping creatures; when he found none he lit a match and held it to one of the newspapers until it caught, then spent a few minutes poking at the place, turning the wood until it caught. 

He kept himself busy to provide more time to think, to go over and over in his head what he'd just learned. 

_Ronan and I... are soulbonded..._

He thought back to what Kavinsky had said on Halloween. _Who do you belong to?_ His stomach churned uncomfortably. Nobody, right? He didn't- it was all he had, his ownership of himself. 

He remembered being scrawny and twelve, still too short to reach the tallest cupboard in the doublewide. His father had been angry- when wasn't his father angry- but he couldn't remember why. He did remember being lifted by the collar of his shirt, pinned to the wall, the smell of alcohol on Robert's breath as he leaned in close, shouting. 

His attention had been caught by the Mark on his son's skin and he stopped cold, still holding Adam off the ground as easily as a ragdoll, as he looked closer at it. 

_"Need a ride,"_ he read aloud, and then snorted derisively. "You ain't going nowhere, Adam Parrish. You're mine; I don't care what some fancy soul mark says." 

Adam knew that, much as it chafed at him, much as he struggled and fought it. He wouldn't believe he was free until it happened, and even then he'd forever be doubting. He hadn't worked so hard to leave his father just to get tied to someone else's anchor. 

Olivia had thought it was romantic, had rested her head on his chest and gazed longingly at the letters, so much a part of his skin that they may as well be freckles, a birthmark, a scar. She'd asked often, "What do you think they're _like_ though?!" 

Once, under the influence of alcohol, she'd confessed: "I'm so jealous." Adam hadn't understood until she explained, "There's someone out there _made_ for you, Adam! The rest of us just struggle and question and never know for sure. It's awful lonely, sometimes." 

But Adam hadn't really thought it was all that romantic at all- it was just another way his life was trying to decide things for him, to take his choice out of the equation. 

"I choose my own fate," he mumbled aloud, staring into the complex and ever-changing colors of the fire. A noise made him look over his shoulder and he saw Ronan entering the room, sans cat, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He handed one to Adam: the smell of hot chocolate wafted invitingly over his face as the other boy sat cross-legged next to him on the rug, not quite close enough to touch. 

When Adam looked at Ronan, Ronan looked away. There was so much of him that Adam didn't know: he claimed he never lied, and yet, like with the mysteriously sleeping cat, there were so many truths that he left unsaid. It was infuriating. 

Ronan cleared his throat. "That was mom's chair," he said, and gestured with his chin to a comfortable looking overstuffed armchair. "Is," he quickly corrected himself. "That _is_ mom's chair. She used to read me and my brothers stories there, or practice her harp..." 

Adam tried to imagine it; he found he didn't know what Ronan's mother looked like. He tried to picture an older, female Ronan, and failed. "Do you have a picture?" he asked. 

Ronan nodded, standing again and abandoning his hot chocolate. He came back a moment later with a framed photo, clearly taken off some wall or other, and handed it to Adam. "That's her with Matthew." 

Matthew looked to be about ten in this image, and the woman embracing him seemed... surreal. Her hair was gold and her eyes an impossible cerulean. Tall and willowy, her lips looked like actual rose petals. She was the kind of woman from times of knights and minstrels, ballads and kingdoms. This was Ronan's _mother?!_

He carefully slipped the photo from the frame and read the curved handwriting on the back: _Matthew and Aurora._ Even her name was a damn fairy tale. What sort of life had Ronan lived before his father had been killed? 

Returning the picture to its place he handed the frame back to Ronan, who set it aside. They were bathed in silence again, broken only by the occasional crackle and snap of the fireplace. 

"Dad's gonna be mad when I'm not home tomorrow morning," he finally muttered, playing with the tassels at the edge of the rug. The expression that crossed Ronan's face was fleeting but clear: he disliked Adam's father, strongly. 

"Would you be in any less trouble if I brought you back now?" he asked, and Adam shook his head. 

"Probably not." 

Ronan nodded, and shifted; he opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to change his mind, taking a quick drink of hot chocolate. "Parrish..." he finally sighed. "You. Didn't say anything. About." 

His entire arm looked weird without his bands; Adam realized he'd never seen Ronan without them before. He couldn't believe his first words to his soulmate had been _Fuck off._ Someday he could imagine himself laughing about that. 

"What am I supposed to say?" Adam replied, and after a moment's thought, "You could have told me when you first figured it out." 

Ronan ducked his head sheepishly. He didn't need to say it: it was clear in his face. He'd been scared to say anything. "We, uh," he stuttered awkwardly, then swallowed. "Where do we stand?" 

Adam thought about how to reply, sipping his own hot chocolate. It was rich, something akin to caramel- toffee, maybe?- as an aftertaste. He could have said that he liked kissing Ronan. He did, but he liked kissing a lot of people. Olivia. Kavinsky. The handful of people he'd kissed in the interim. For Ronan, he suspected, it was different. To Ronan, kisses meant something. He didn't know if he had it in him to provide that something. 

"I don't know," Adam confessed honestly. It seemed irresponsible, in hindsight, to not have researched soulmarks more once he'd learned he had one. Perhaps he'd felt that if he didn't acknowledge it, he wouldn't have to deal with it. He knew it was a two-way process, and Ronan had already completed his half. Would that have an ill effect on Ronan? 

Another thing he had to do homework on, as if his winter holidays weren't busy enough. 

"Okay," Ronan nodded, as if Adam's response had been profound, helpful in any way. Adam's insides squirmed guiltily. 

"Hey," he said, and set his drink aside. "C'mere." He held his arms out and, after a moment of studying him, Ronan did the same, sliding across the rug and settling against Adam's side. His posture was very stiff, and it was a hint awkward. 

Reaching, Adam slowly massaged the back of Ronan's neck, rubbing at the knots there. He hooked his chin over Ronan's shoulder, nuzzled the back of his ear. He always looked so pointy, so foreboding, but Adam has seen firsthand multiple times around how soft the boy really was. 

He kissed Ronan's earlobe: the tall boy gave a shiver, and Adam smiled. It wasn't enough, but for now it would have to be. 

**###**

Gansey had called Ronan's cell phone no less than fifteen times Christmas night. He'd driven to all his haunts, had even parked on the side of Henrietta's most trafficked highway, half expecting to see the shark-nosed BMW racing recklessly by. 

He wasn't frequenting any gas stations, paying older men to buy him alcohol. He wasn't at the tattoo parlor visiting Ben, who was notorious among Aglionby students on his lax attitude towards ID checking. 

He wasn't at Adam's trailer, although when he'd driven by with his window rolled down he had heard the raised voice of Robert Parrish and the quieter, pleading tone of his wife. It made him cringe. 

Close to four in the morning he'd bitten the bullet and dared to call Declan, a last resort he resented because he knew how irresponsible it made him look- that he'd been trusted to look after Ronan and having to admit that he couldn't always do that much. 

A sleepy-voiced woman had answered Declan's phone, the implications making Gansey's cheeks warm, and had suggested Gansey check with "any girlfriends" Ronan had. Noah, listening on the speakerphone, had snorted aloud at that, grinning at Gansey's shushing motion. 

It wasn't until almost six that the car pulled back into the driveway, and by then Gansey had anxiously chewed his way through half a mint plant and created nearly an entire block on his model Henrietta. 

He tried to be angry with Ronan when he snuck into Monmouth, tried to find some way to express the worry and stress he'd been through, but found he was unable to do much but slump back in exhausted relief. 

"Good to see you're alive," he remarked casually, and Ronan winced. 

"Uh, yeah," he said guiltily. "I, I didn't hear my phone ringing." 

Gansey didn't ask where Ronan had been. He didn't want to know. 

"You're not even wearing a jacket," he sighed, frustrated, and Ronan glanced at his bare arms in surprise, as if he had forgotten how cold he must have been. 

Something else was off, and it took his tired brain too long to piece together the lack of bands. This was more alarming; Ronan never took them off. They acted somewhat as a portable security blanket, something to chew when he was uncomfortable. He had an actual, winter-faint tanline where they belonged. 

Approaching, Gansey tried to subtly smell his friend. No trace of alcohol, but was that... smoke? Alarmed, he glanced into Ronan's eyes. His pupils appeared to be of normal size. His lips, however, were slightly swollen. 

A grin appeared on Ronan's face, then spread. Before Gansey had a chance to react Ronan threw his arms around him, squeezing him tight in an embrace. "What-" Gansey had a chance to squeak. 

"I love you, old man," Ronan said, releasing Gansey as quickly as he'd grabbed him, and then he was pushing past him and into his bedroom, shutting the door loudly. 

Noah appeared beside Gansey as he continued to stare at the closed bedroom door. "Teenagers," the teen said, shaking his head.


	16. Bitches of Both Variety

The day after Christmas, shortly after Ronan had dropped Adam back off at home and he'd managed maybe twenty minutes of dreamless sleep, he found himself waking abruptly as something cold and pointed was jammed into his ribcage. 

Robert Parrish stood over his son, an impressive six feet and looking wildly hungover. The object with which he used to poke his son, Adam realized with a surge of sickening panic, was the business-end of a double-barrel shotgun. 

His throat sealed up and Adam found he was unable to move, unable to speak. He could only stare up at his father, eyes wide, pulse crashing rabbit-quick in his throat. 

"Nice of you to finally show up," Robert slurred, and the fumes on his breath were noxious. "You didn't even think to say hey to your old man on Christmas?" 

Adam had always suspected, in a dull and hopeless way, that he probably eventually _would_ die at the hands of his father. His head would be knocked just a little too hard; he'd press his throat just that one fraction too long to come back from. That didn't make the panic at times like this any less whole and all-consuming. 

"Well," Robert asked, and prodded Adam in the ribs once again. "Ain't you gonna say something?" 

Adam carefully wet his lips; his tongue felt dry as sandpaper. "I don't know what to say, sir," he said, and his voice came out surprisingly steady, though quieter than usual. 

He could hear his mother in the kitchenette, could hear water running, meat frying as she willfully ignored what was happening to her son just a half-wall over. 

"You don't know," Robert muttered, "you don't know." He prodded Adam's leg with the shotgun. "Move." 

Uncertainly, Adam lifted his knees to his chest, and Robert sank onto the couch beside him. Suddenly the gun was no longer touching him and, wary and slow, he moved to sit up, to put distance between himself and cold metal. 

"Why you gotta be so fuckin' different," Robert said as Adam righted himself into a seated position, attempted to calm his heart. There was venom in his voice, but no energy to act on it. 

"Sir?" Adam questioned. If he could get through this interaction, however achingly long it may last, without getting a fist to the face or a boot to the ribs, he would count it a victory. 

Robert wasn't looking at him. "I want to like you, Adam," he said, and stared at the wall ahead of them. "Hell, what dad doesn't want to like his boy? But you make it damn near impossible. First your fancy Mark, your rich-boy school. All your special little friends. You think you're special, Adam?" 

When he turned to look at his son, Adam shook his head. "N-no, sir. I don't." 

Robert snorted, but nodded. "Good. Don't fuckin' forget what you are. You're _mine."_

The words made Adam's heart sink, a hopeless weight that never really left him. This doubled when an arm was flung heavily over his shoulders, dragging him into Robert's chest, his large hand coming around to squeeze Adam's face in what, from anyone else, could be an affectionate gesture but here only served to emphasize Robert's largeness, his strength over his son. "Merry Christmas you little shit," Robert said, laughing a little before letting him go. 

Adam knew better than to move off of his father too quickly, but instead let his body linger for a moment. Robert's wrath was a gas leak able to become an explosion at the littlest, most innocuous act of rebellion. He lived forever walking on eggshells and dying inside at every infraction. 

Despite knowing better, there was a part of him that couldn't help but believe if he could go back, could do all the steps right, could dance every step expected of him, that he could unlock the code to a real dad, a dad who loved him. Who was proud of him. He hated himself for wanting this. 

"What's with the faggy bracelets?" Robert snorted, sliding his finger under one of the leather bands that adorned his son's wrist and lifting Adam's arm with it, flopping the appendage like a puppeteer's toy and forcing Adam to wave at his mother. "You gonna grow tits? Should we start calling you Amy?" 

Adam forced a laugh at his dad's jokes. "Olivia gave them to me," he lied, which made Robert roll his eyes in a commiserating way. 

"Bitches, right?" 

Feeling dirty and disloyal, Adam forced himself to nod. "Bitches," he agreed, and smiled. 

**###**

Gansey sighed. The entirety of their Winter break had been strange. Ever since Christmas Ronan had been emotionally high as a kite one moment and the next he'd be surly and snappish, locking himself away with his music and refusing to see anyone. 

Adam, and by extension Olivia, were nowhere to be found. He supposed he could attribute at least part of this to Adam's new job, but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of them in ages. It felt like he was avoiding them again. 

Noah was the only one acting somewhat normally, though every day the only thing he would ask Gansey would be to go see "that girl" again. 

"You know you're more than welcome to visit Blue Sargent by yourself, right?" he asked the strange boy, who had taken quite the shine to the psychic's daughter. "You don't need my permission; I don't know her any more than you do." 

Noah would usually respond with a pale blush and a mumbled excuse, making himself scarce until the next time he thought to ask the very same question. Finally, with three days to go before the holidays were over, Gansey gave in. 

"You win!" he sighed, throwing his hands out in defeat. "We'll go see Sargent. She'll probably think we're crazy showing up for no reason, but sure. If it means you won't ask anymore." 

Noah's small smile was probably worth any embarrassment this elicited anyway. He popped a mint leaf into his mouth on their way out to the Camaro, chilly December air chapping their cheeks as they drove. 

Noah seemed in a better mood than usual, happy to be sitting in the front seat for once, and Gansey couldn't help but smile as Noah looked through his CD case, selecting _How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb_ by U2, an album Gansey had only purchased _because_ Noah was so taken with it. 

Gansey even started to dance along with Noah's enthusiastic headbanging, as much as he could constrained in the drivers' seat as he was anyway; by the time they'd pulled off the highway and were parking in front of 300 Fox Way both boys were grinning ear-to-ear. It wasn't often that Richard Campbell Gansey III felt his age. 

"You dance like my grandmother," Noah muttered good-naturedly as they climbed the car and approached the door of the house. 

"Can I help you?" a voice behind them asked, before Gansey could raise a fist to knock. When he turned he saw Blue Sargent herself, looking snug in a sky-blue parka and boots she'd hand-painted with little white clouds. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. 

Held in each fingerless-gloved hand were leashes and on the other end of those leashes were an assortment of unruly dogs; Gansey counted at least five. Noah, crowing in delight, knelt and allowed them to climb onto his lap, licking at his face. Tails- curled, feathery, and stump- all wagged in the pure ecstasy of a person who loved them as much as they loved him. 

"Ah, Blue!" Gansey said, and then wondered if he'd addressed her too informally for someone who didn't really know her. Was 'Sargent' more appropriate? 

The short girl regarded him for half a moment before reaching around him- he stepped nervously out of the way- and sticking a bright pink key into the door handle. 

"I forgot my water bottle," she explained, and opened the door. The warmth from the house enveloped all three in the doorway like an embrace. "We're going to the park to let out some energy." 

One of the dogs, a scruffy little Chihuahua-mix, had tangled herself thoroughly in her leash and Gansey bent to carefully extract her, holding her around the belly as he slipped the nylon from around her legs. She licked his hand in gratitude, overlong tail thumping. "Are these all yours?" he asked, and Blue snorted. 

"I'm dog-walking," she said. At his blank stare she explained, "as a job? For money? Some of us have to work for that, you know. Here, hold these." 

She roughly shoved all the leash handles into Gansey's hands and stepped into her house, shutting the door in his face. He had barely a moment to react before she was back, holding what looked like a two-gallon bottle of water with surprising ease for her small size. She took some of the leashes back. then just looked at him expectantly. 

"Uh," he said, and she sighed. 

"I'm trying to think of a nice way to ask what you want," she said. "And why you're here." 

"Oh," Gansey couldn't help but laugh a little. "Honestly, Noah just wanted to see how you were doing. And I wanted to invite you to our New Years party." 

He stopped short, and Noah shot him a confused look. He hadn't been aware they were _having_ a New Years party until the words left his mouth, and now he scrambled to correct himself. 

"Uh, I mean, well, it's not _really_ a party. It's just. Hanging out. Um. You know, a few friends. We might. Roast marshmallows, or." 

He had no idea what he was saying anymore. Roast marshmallows? Had they ever done that? 

Blue's mouth quirked, like she was trying hard not to laugh. She began walking down the driveway and to the sidewalk, walking only two of the dogs. When the rest strained in Gansey's hands, trying to follow their canine companions, he had no choice but to follow. "Don't hurt yourself," Blue called over her shoulder. 

She walked surprisingly fast for someone with legs so short. Walking with a purpose, his mother always referred to people going at her pace. Confidently knowing he would continue to follow without so much as looking back. 

"So," he tried helplessly, struggling to keep up, to avoid tripping over dogs, to keep Noah at his side. He found he liked following Blue Sargent. He found he wanted to do it more, as long as she wanted him to. The thought made him feel strange; Gansey had never been much of a follower, and yet he trusted her to lead. "The party?" 

"Sure," she said, and there was definitely a hint of a laugh in her voice. "Sure, why not?"


	17. Dickwaffles

Ronan was trying very hard not to meet Gansey's pouting face. 

"Someone your age should not be trying the puppy-eyes thing," he said, staring at a spot just above Gansey's head. "It won't work." 

_"Ronan..."_

Despite his resolve, Ronan made the mistake of glancing down for half a second. Hazel eyes were wide and sparkling, expression eager and excited. He looked so hopeful, so squeaky clean, that he wouldn't have been out of place in a fifty's sitcom where characters unironically said things like, _"Gee-whiz,"_ and _"Aww nuts."_

"What do you even want marshmallows for?" Ronan sighed, already knowing that the shorter boy had won. 

Evidentially Gansey knew this as well, because his smile brightened by at least a hundred watts. Ronan resisted the urge to shield his eyes. "We're having a party," he said, in a would-be-casual tone. 

"With marshmallows." 

Gansey nodded eagerly. "And hot chocolate." 

"I don't suppose there will be anything good?" Ronan asked, and arched an eyebrow. "I could call K and have him bring by some 'party favors.'" 

He said it only to get a slight rise out of Gansey, which it did, immediately. The sparkle left his face and he was once again Mr. Authority, giving Ronan a disapproving look. "We don't want anything from Kavinsky." 

"Yeah, yeah," Ronan sighed, and grabbed his keys off the table. "Fine. Hot chocolate and marshmallows. Do you want anything else?" 

"Adam," Gansey said promptly, and Ronan stiffened, glancing over his shoulder to give Gansey a questioning look. 

"Didn't realize you two were a thing," he said, sneering extra to cover his slip-up. "Mazel tov." 

Gansey rolled his eyes. "I want you to _pick up_ Adam for the party," he explained. "I'm going to go. Um. Get someone else." His complexion darkened subtly, and Ronan understood. 

"Sargent?" He got a nod. "She's trouble; stay away from her." 

"Never thought I'd see the day when _Ronan Lynch_ told me to stay out of trouble." 

"I mean it, man," Ronan folded his arms and regarded Gansey sternly. "You saw that vision of what she did to you. I _told_ you about her curse or whatever." 

"So I won't kiss her!" Gansey held his arms out, irritated. "Can we go now? We're burning daylight." 

Ronan regarded him suspiciously for a moment, but then sighed. He knew stubbornness when he saw it. "You get Parrish, then," he said. _"I'll_ get Sargent." 

"She threw a shoe at your head, if you somehow forgot. I don't think you're her favorite person right now." 

"Would you just trust me for once?" 

**##**

Blue wasn't sure what qualified as proper marshmallow-roasting New Years Eve attire; after a moment of thinking about it she'd rolled her eyes at herself and donned thick leggings, her favorite boots, and a dress Persephone had helped her make out of what had once been a tacky Christmas sweater. 

She watched outside the window for the now-familiar orange Camaro but was surprised- and, though she'd never admit it, slightly disappointed- to see a gray BMW pull up instead. The boy that got out- shaved head, overlarge sunglasses, leather jacket- was unmistakably Ronan Lynch. 

Irritated, she raced Orla downstairs and flung the door open before her cousin could sic herself on the boy. "I wasn't expecting you," she said bluntly. His expression was inscrutable. 

"Gansey's busy," he said. "I'll take you to Monmouth." 

Blue considered protesting, saying she'd stay home after all, but Orla caught her easily around the waist and did a dance-like swing, depositing her out the door and onto the first step, nearly stumbling into Ronan. 

She shot Orla a withering look over her shoulder that could have peeled paint, but the older girl only smiled blithely. "Drive safe!" she chirped. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" She winked lasciviously and shut the door in Blue's face: both teenagers could hear her snickering laughter on the other side. 

Blue was carrying mace, and a heavy rock in her back pocket. If worse came to worst she would simply demand Ronan pull over and let her out, then walk the rest of the way home. It wasn't precisely that she was afraid of him; she simply had trouble reading him, and wasn't the trusting sort. 

To cover her moment of hesitation she let herself into the BMW without proper invitation, then rolled down the window. "Well?" 

Ronan got in. 

It was an uncomfortably quiet drive, and Blue pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them to conserve heat. Was he keeping the car this cold on purpose? 

"What's your problem?" she finally demanded, feeling no need to play coy all night. "I know we're not exactly friends but you could say something." 

He glanced at her, then back ahead. A snow-plow had recently been through the area and the car ran smoothly on the bare road surface. "I wanna know what you're planning with Gansey," he said, and there was no trace of warmth in his voice. 

She stared at him in disbelief. When he didn't react, she sputtered an offended, "Excuse me?" 

He looked back at her and said nothing. 

"I have no 'plans' other than _your friend_ invited me to a party and I said I'd go. Did I commit some, some, future Alpha-Beta-Cappa crime or something?" 

"You know what we saw in the puddle." 

"Oh Christ," she rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply; her unevenly chopped hair fluttered from the force of her breath. "Quit being such a dickwaffle about that. I told you, _I don't know_ what happened. I'm not gonna turn into some witch monster and eat Gansey, if that's what you're so concerned about." 

He turned sharply and she quickly reached to grab the oh-shit handle, eyes flying wide. Before she knew it they were parked in front of a random convenience store. 

"Come on," Ronan said, undoing his seatbelt. "We need to buy the marshmallows." The corner of his mouth twitched when he added, "Dickwaffle." 

He turned the heat on for the rest of the way to Monmouth. 

**##**

Noah had a small smile on his face as he sat on a fallen log before the makeshift fire pit Adam had constructed out of cinder blocks. Gansey had quickly brewed a pot of hot chocolate, though it was slightly clumpier than they'd all prefer; he held the cup anyway, not drinking, just enjoying the feel of something warm in his hands.

He was especially enjoying Blue's company, how much stronger, more alive, he felt when she was around. He hoped they could keep her. She was talking animatedly to Olivia, who would be leaving for her mother's home the next day. 

Adam and Ronan, Noah observed, were ignoring each other so hard that it was blindingly obvious something had happened; one would have to be as oblivious as Gansey not to see that. 

He felt good. He felt almost alive. 

"Time, Gansey?" Blue asked, and he glanced at his watch. "A quarter to twelve," he said, and lit a sparkler, handing it over to her. Her bright brown eyes glittered in the fizzling light, the smell of gunpowder feeling festive. 

Ronan shifted, his leg bumping Adam's, and he muttered an apology. Noah rolled his eyes. They were too stupid for their own good. 

"I can't believe it's been a whole year," Olivia mused, staring into the fire. "A lot's happened." 

"Yeah," Blue agreed, and then gave Gansey a small smile. He returned it immediately, lighting up brighter than the sparkler, and Noah found himself feeling both happy for them, and a little melancholy. His days of crushes were long over. 

"To a new year," he said, and raised his mug. They all echoed the sentiment, clinking their respective mugs against his; even Ronan. "To new friends," he added, and smiled at them all. 

"And old ones," Gansey said, and nudged Ronan's knee with his own. Ronan smirked and nudged back. 

There were very few stars visible under the thick clouds, but faint moonlight streamed valiantly through. Gansey knew that, not too far away, more Aglionby students were gathering in a field to set off illegal fireworks, precisely why he'd chosen this view. 

"Eight minutes," Noah announced. 

Ronan glanced at Adam's face, then away again. Adam pretended not to notice. 

Blue stood with the embers of her sparkler, trailing it through the air until it finally fizzled out; Gansey, who'd been very meticulously roasting a marshmallow to a perfect golden brown, held it out to her and she gingerly took it. 

"I don't want this break to end," Olivia confessed, looking dour. "I don't know how I can go back to school after all this." 

This time it was Adam who nudged her with his knee. "You can always come back," he pointed out. "It's not as if you're banned or whatever." 

"Yeah, but..." she kept looking into the fire, and Noah understood; once people discovered the reality of magic in Henrietta, it was hard to think of anything else. It was such an all-consuming thing, and the thought threatened his good mood. Some people would do anything, sacrifice anyone, for more of such magic. 

"Five minutes," Ronan said, and they all jumped when an early firework was sent up; they craned their necks to watch the explosion: deep blue, to silver, to white. The boys that had sent it up cheered; a muted sound in the cold. 

They sent up another early firework at the two minute mark, which Gansey looked rather grumpy about. He liked some things done by the book, as was tradition, and this was one of them. Ronan, lover of all things destructive, was enchanted. 

At one minute to midnight Olivia stood on her log, gathering her balance in eager preparation. Blue joined her; though there was a significant height gap between the two they looked as if they'd known each other all their lives. Noah stood as well, clutching Blue's hand both for strength and for balance. 

"Ten!" Gansey said. "Nine! Eight!" 

"You fucking dork!" Ronan crowed, and threw a marshmallow at Gansey, but he was smiling enormously, looking younger than ever, and Gansey's enthusiasm was shared by the rest. They joined him in his countdown. 

At, _"Happy New Year!"_ Olivia pressed an enthusiastic kiss to one of Blue's cheeks; Noah, grinning, kissed the other cheek, and Blue was trapped, giggling, between them. A shower of fireworks filled the air; blue and green, gold and red. 

Ronan was fidgeting uneasily, biting his lip before glancing again at Adam. Adam rolled his eyes and exhaled a sigh, then smiled and cupped Ronan's jaw, sliding forward to kiss him softly on the lips. 

"Happy New Year."


	18. Rabbit Kisses

"We don't have to go," Gansey reminded his friends for the fourth time that morning, even as he adjusted his jacket and tie in front of the mirror. "Really, we probably shouldn't. There might not even be room at the table. We might be doing them a favor if we-"

Like the previous three times, Ronan and Adam ignored him. Adam was lightly dozing, curled at the foot of Ronan's bed with an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Ronan was sitting on the floor with his back propped against the mattress, watching a video game cut scene with the glazed expression of the very bored. Every so often he'd reach up and slide his fingers through Adam's hair, a mindless comfort action similar to how he chewed his bands. 

Gansey peeked over his shoulder into Ronan's room. "Are you two even dressed?" 

"No," Ronan replied, deadpan, not looking away from his flatscreen. "As you can see we're completely naked." 

They were, in fact, not naked, but in Gansey's mind he may as well be. "You can't wear sweat pants to Helen's birthday party!" he groaned. "She'll kill me and feed you my remains for the main course." 

Adam let out a grumpy little sound. "What's he moanin' about now?" he asked, voice sleep-raspy and accent more pronounced than usual. Gansey saw a soft smile pass Ronan's face at the sound of it. 

"We're too trashy to go to parties," he told Adam, who still hadn't taken his arm from his eyes. "And apparently we endorse cannibalism." 

_"You_ might be," Adam mumbled in retort. Ronan nudged him. 

"C'mon. Before Gansey has a meltdown." 

"I can hear you, you know," Gansey complained. "Your door is wide open." 

Ronan pointedly closed the door with his foot. 

"Are they gonna kiss again?" Noah asked, and Gansey sighed loudly. 

"Not if they don't want to be late to the party!" 

**###**

The place settings were white and gold, and Gansey discretely tugged Ronan closer to swap out his silver tie bar with a gold one from his pocket to match before Helen noticed. Ronan made a face but allowed it. 

Helen, her dress short, white, and classy and her hair in a glossy chignon, descended the stairs two at a time and enveloped her younger brother in a brief, awkward embrace. "It's been a while," she said. "We'd wondered if you were still alive." 

She glanced over the top of Gansey's head to regard Ronan and Adam, then smiled. "Lynch," she greeted. "You're looking... different." 

It occurred to Gansey that she hadn't seen Ronan since _before._ Before Niall's death, before he'd shaved his head and had to begin shaving his face as well, grown inches taller than Gansey. Before the angles of his face had sharpened from carefree child to defensive man. 

If he was reading Helen correctly, she didn't particularly like the changes, and that made Gansey feel defensive. This Ronan was far more fragile than he looked, and Gansey loved him more than he had the words to say. 

"You must be Parrish," she said, stepping from Gansey's embrace to offer a hand to Adam. He took it, smiling at her in a way that suggested he found her attractive, in a distant sort of way. "Dick is very fond of you." 

To Adam's credit he didn't so much as smirk at the mention of Gansey's nickname. The same couldn't be said for Ronan, who quickly looked down at his shoes when Gansey shot him a glare. Adam serenely stepped backwards onto his toes. 

"We're fond of him as well," he assured the older Gansey sibling. He cleaned up well after a haircut and a suit Gansey had fought tooth and nail to make Adam accept him purchasing. ("You'll need it for future Aglionby events, too," was the argument that finally won out.) 

He had, Gansey had to admit, an unusual sort of beauty. Soft and understating, a quiet and elegant arrangement of features. He suddenly felt fiercely proud of his friends. 

"Happy birthday, Helen," Gansey said as they walked to the sitting room, and she smiled quickly, starting to sit down and then springing back to her feet when their parents strode into the room. 

"Dick!" Mrs. Gansey exclaimed delightedly, and the awkward introductions continued. 

It wasn't until they were seated and enjoying a light first course of wedge salads and butternut squash soup that Mr. Gansey asked, "Did you ever meet that soulmate of yours, Ronan?" 

Ronan coughed a little and had to take a quick sip of water, determinedly not looking at Adam, who shot him a glance that was a complicated combination of irritation and fondness. 

"That would be me, sir," Adam said and, at Mr. Gansey's surprised blink, he obligingly lowered the collar of his shirt. Mr. Gansey examined the Mark in some interest. 

"How wonderful," Mrs. Gansey exclaimed. "So you two are bonded now?" 

It was Adam's turn to look uncomfortable. He had that set to his lips that told Gansey he was about to lie, and he didn't want that. Not today. 

"They've decided to wait to complete their bond," he explained to his parents. He didn't go into detail- didn't explain that the bond was half-formed, that they were by all definitions, dating, though they'd yet to use that word themselves. 

"How unusual," Mrs. Gansey remarked politely, Gansey family speak for, _That's weird._

"Maybe it's for the best," Mr. Gansey said. "Responsible youngsters, aren't you." Which was his way of saying, _damn kids and their modern ideas._

Gansey shrugged, his way of telling them, _it's their life and they can do as they like._

Truth be told, it had bothered him at first, as well. It had seemed, in his opinion, selfish of Adam. To be a drain on Ronan's resources without contributing anything of his own, without picking up his half of the burden. Ronan hadn't seen it that way. 

"He's got enough going on in his life right now," he'd said, the one time Gansey had brought it up. "Drop it, okay?" 

Gansey had dropped it, although he felt he'd never really understand. It was clear the way Adam looked at Ronan that he was crazy for him. What was holding him back? 

He supposed he'd just have to be there for them. As Adam had said the first time they'd spent time together, _"You can't make me do anything I don't want to do."_ Perhaps Ronan had finally learned something. 

"Seeing as it's _my_ birthday," Helen interrupted. "Isn't anybody going to ask me about my plans?" 

When Gansey caught her eye he gave her a small, grateful smile, she returned it with the tiniest nod of her head. 

**###**

Adam was surprised when he was tugged by the elbow and taken outside just as dusk was beginning to fall. 

"What is it?" he asked Ronan. They'd planned to stay at Gansey's parents house that night and drive back to Virginia the next morning. 

"It gets to be too much in there sometimes," Ronan admitted. "Have you seen their garden?" 

Adam allowed himself to be lead through the grounds- so large it was a miniature hike before they reached a picturesque little fence, white with green vines trimmed in tight loops over the slats. 

"It looks like a Thomas Kinkaid painting," he muttered, when Ronan pushed the gate open and they stepped into the garden. it wasn't exactly a compliment. There was something artificial about the way the flower bushes grew in perfectly sculpted cubes and spheres, the way the trees had even numbers of branches that cast pretty little shadows on the cobblestone paths. It was nothing like the raw beauty of Ronan's Barns. 

Ronan shrugged. "At least we're outside. I feel like I can't breathe in there." He tugged his tie loose and sighed deeply. 

"Why did you say you'd come then?" Adam asked. "If you don't like it." 

Ronan snorted, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "Gansey hates being here alone." 

It really was as simple as that with him. A friend needed help, and so Ronan would be there. The thought made something twang funnily in Adam's chest; a guitar string plucked too forcefully. 

Swallowing it down, he fell into step on the path next to Ronan. Not looking at him, he took his hand. It was warm, and lightly callused. Ronan squeezed his fingers lightly, so Adam squeezed back. 

"I'm glad I met you," Adam said, before he lost his nerve. It was easier to express feelings in actions than in words, for both of them. He felt his cheeks turning pink just from saying it. "Not for destiny reasons or whatever that shit all says. Just. Glad I met _you,_ for you." 

He glanced at Ronan out of the corner of his eye; though Ronan did not look back at him, there was the smallest of smiles on his face. "Me, too," he admitted awkwardly. 

The garden path meandered charmingly, as it was genetically calculated in a lab somewhere to do. Ronan, releasing Adam's hand, threw his arm instead around Adam's shoulders and drew him close. He was still shy about most physical affection, so Adam couldn't help but smile as he linked an arm around the taller boy's waist. He'd never dated anyone like this strange, moody mess of contradictions before. 

The school year had resumed with little drama, though now Blue was spending more and more time with them; Gansey was deeply, and worryingly, infatuated with her. Both Ronan and Adam knew they had to trust him to make the best judgments, but it was hard not to be protective of the idealistic boy who'd been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. They loved him too much not to worry at least a little. 

Adam startled when a gray-brown shape leapt into their path, though Ronan remained stock still. A small rabbit with beady dark eyes blinked at them, seeming unafraid of the humans it faced. 

Ronan released Adam to kneel and offer a hand out; the rabbit, clearly accustomed to humans, hesitated only a moment before sniffing his fingers with a twitching black nose. Adam couldn't peel his eyes from Ronan's face; he watched the tiny creature, enchanted, his sharp blue eyes softening to something new. 

The guitar string in Adams chest became a full chord. _Shit._

Ronan lightly stroked the top of the creature's head with a single finger; it allowed this for several moments before hopping away, disappearing into a lavender bush. Ronan watched it go, then stood up, dusting his pants off. He cleared his throat and attempted to rearrange his face into it's customary sneering expression. 

"Fucking rabbits," he said. "They're everywhere. They eat up all the flowers. Mrs. Gansey is too soft to get rid of them." 

"Uh-huh," Adam elbowed him in the ribs, rolling his eyes. "Sure." 

Ronan turned a narrow-eyed glare onto his companion. "What's that supposed to- oof!" 

His eyes widened as Adam pulled him down for a kiss. He hesitated for a moment before allowing his eyes to flutter closed, settling his hands on Adam's hips. The slightest hint of stubble rubbed Adam's cheeks and he sighed, nearly purring at the contact. 

When they broke apart, Adam smiled up at him, resting a palm on Ronan's cheek. "You're such a fucking _dork."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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